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avatar-anna · 7 months

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When You Fall In Love...

so i've been reading icebreaker and it's been putting me in the hockeyrry mood

part one, part two, bonus, bonus

Harry watched from the empty stands as Y/n ran through her routine for the fifth time. Her teammates had gone home, her coach asked Harry if he would lock up on the way out, and now it was just the two of them in the empty rink. There wasn't even any music playing anymore, Y/n was just skating and performing her tricks as if there was.

Every time she did it, it was flawless. Her routine was fast and intense and incredibly difficult, but Y/n performed with ease every time. She landed her tricks like they were nothing, tricks which Harry now knew the names of and could tell the difference between a lutz and an axel. She was incredible, and he was in awe of her every single time.

But even in her perfection, Y/n had yet to smile once.

Harry decided she'd had enough after she finished her fifth run-through, quickly jogging down to the edge of the rink before she could skate out to the middle again. He leaned over the barricade and kissed the top of her head. This close to her, he could see her rosy cheeks and heaving chest, a sign that her routine did wear her out, despite making it look so effortless.

"You were phenomenal as usual, baby," Harry said while he gathered her things.

"I bobbled a landing and my timing was off for a whole four counts," was her reply.

Harry frowned, not pleased by her recent negativity. Any athlete could be critical of their ability, but Y/n seemed uncharacteristically hard on herself lately, and he had no idea why. "Everything okay?" He asked, shouldering her duffle bag as they walked away from the rink.

"I'm fine."

She certainly didn't sound fine, but Harry decided not to push. Not now, anyway. Changing the subject, he said, "I got an email from the recruiter. I should be receiving my contract soon."

Excitement didn't even begin to cover how Harry had been feeling lately. Last week, he'd met with an agent of a minor league hockey team, one that was a feeder to an NHL team. He expressed their interest in Harry moving to the east coast after graduation and join them for spring training. And after giving it some thought, Harry accepted.

He was over the moon, thrilled that years of hard work was finally paying off. He'd made his passion into a career, and had the potential to really make a name for himself. Life couldn't have been better.

But where Harry seemed to be flying high, Y/n seemed stuck. She was happy for him when he told her the news, had gone out to celebrate with him that night. But something felt off between them. Harry couldn't put a name to it, but he just knew.

"That's great," Y/n said with no amount of enthusiasm in her voice. Harry tried not to take it to heart, she was clearly in a mood from her practice. She was under a lot of pressure too, he reminded himself, and sometimes had a knack for not knowing how to express herself with words.

"Is there something on your mind? You've been quiet recently," he said, hoping he wasn't overstepping her delicate boundary.

Y/n shook her head as she approached her car, sliding into the driver's seat without a word. Harry couldn't help but feel more and more like there was something on her mind, but he let it go again.

Before pulling the car out of the parking lot, Y/n rested her hand over his and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind."

"It's okay. As long as you know you can talk to me about it."

Her throat bobbed, but she nodded, then turned her focus toward the road. Harry filled the silence with rambling. He talked mostly about the NHL, about his contract and where he wanted to live and how everything was happening so fast.

So caught up in trying to break the tension, he didn't notice Y/n's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

*.*

"Styles! What the hell are you doing? Focus up! Let's go!"

Harry rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily during the brief pause in the game. His eyes flicked up to the stands, searching the crowd for a familiar face, but he didn't see the one he needed the most.

Despite being recruited by a minor league hockey team, Harry was probably having the worst game of his life.

Not one pass connected, he was letting second-rate players get by him, and he'd spent more time in the penalty box than in the actual game. Nothing about this was right, and still all he could do was look for Y/n.

She wasn't there, and even though things had been weird between them recently, he was still surprised. When she wasn't at a competition of her own, Y/n came to every one of Harry's games. It had started out as Harry wanting to impress her, maybe show off a little, and then as time went on and they grew closer and their relationship became more than two people having sex in secret, he wanted her to be there just because it felt good knowing she was watching him play. All his nerves floated away when Y/n was sat in the stands, sometimes in his jersey, cheering him on.

And of course there were times when she couldn't come, but this wasn't one of those times. Y/n had purposely not shown up. He knew they'd fought before the game, but he didn't think she would abandon him just to be petty. They were past that now.

His sole focus should've been on the game he was playing, but instead his mind kept drifting to the fight.

Harry could feel Y/n pulling away from him. He finally felt like he was getting everything he wanted—a spot on a minor league hockey team on the east coast that would eventually lead him to the NHL, graduating with semi-decent grades thanks to Y/n, and of course being with his dream girl. At first, she'd seen him as some douchey athlete that was only good for one thing. He remembered seeing her for the first time their freshman year, performing tricks on the ice that he'd only ever seen on TV, and when he whistled and clapped loudly—perhaps a little obnoxiously—after she'd finished, she'd rolled her eyes at him and told him to fuck off.

It was love at first sight.

Harry had been so careful around Y/n. He played by her rules and followed her lead, trying not to let the comments about them not dating get to him too much. He liked their initial dynamic, finding it funny when he got under her skin because she made it so easy. It became a kind of game, this push and pull that was fun and exciting and eventually led to their arrangement.

He knew that she cared about him on some level, he just needed to bide his time and show her he wasn't who she thought he was. Not entirely, anyway. And when she finally did, and they became more than just people who screwed around, everything was perfect.

They'd been through so much together. Y/n pushed Harry to be better, and he worked with her to master new tricks and nail her routine. There wasn't anyone else who understood his level of commitment to hockey, but she did, and that just made him love her more.

So when he got the call offering him a spot on the minor league team, Y/n was the first person Harry told. She'd been happy for him, and he was over the moon, his mind already making a million plans—where they'd live, her coming to his games, him helping her find a new rink to train at. It felt like the doors to a new and exciting world had opened for them, but she then she started pulling back, and Harry practically watched as that door slammed shut.

Harry pushed himself to focus back on the game, on the hockey stick in his hand and the ice beneath his skates. He felt like it took more effort than it should've to get his head back in the game, but his team managed to pull out a win, and he managed not to get benched before it happened. That didn't stop his coach from ripping him a new one in the locker room, but Harry sat there and took it, shaking his head and promising his piss poor performance would never happen again.

Exhausted both physically and mentally, he trudged out of the locker room and toward the parking lot, debating whether to take the bus home or call an Uber. Even in his senior year, he still didn't have a car, but Y/n was usually there to give him a ride home. To their home. Moving in together for their last year of school seemed like a no-brainer, and it had been amazing so far, though the last week had been kind of a disaster. Harry could feel the tension between them growing, but every time he asked Y/n about it, she'd say she was fine even though they both knew everything was not fine, and the cycle continued. He wanted to be excited, he wanted to celebrate the success he'd managed to create for himself, but he felt rather deflated instead.

To Harry's surprise, Y/n was waiting for him in the parking lot. He didn't hesitate putting his gear in the trunk and coming around to sit in the passenger seat. Y/n leaned in to kiss him immediately holding onto the sides of his face fervently.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm sorry for not being here tonight and I'm sorry for acting strange, and I'm sorry for—"

"Y/n, what's going on with you?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Can we wait until we get home to talk?" She asked. I want to be able to talk to you properly, and I can't if I'm driving.

When Harry nodded, Y/n must've deemed it enough. She peeled away from the rink, silent tension filling the air between once again. It had been following them around all week.

That ended tonight, though. He didn't care how much Y/n hated confrontation or hard conversations. They couldn't move forward if they didn't move past this roadblock first. Harry loved Y/n more than he ever thought possible, and stubborn as she was, he knew she loved him just as much. He would get to the bottom of this, no matter how hard she tried to fight him on the way down.

*.*

"Y/n, you know I would be ecstatic if you'd told me you qualified for the Olympics. This is a huge step in my career! Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am! God, Harry, I am."

"Then why are you pulling away from me? I feel like I can't be excited about this around you when you're the one person who should understand how this feels."

"I can't do this. I can't have this argument with you," you said, trying to step away from him.

Harry was quick to grab your hands in his, keeping you from walking away. "What aren't you telling me? Do you want to break up?"

"No!

"Do you not love me anymore? What? What is it, Y/n?"

"God, I didn't—I didn't ask for this," you cried, feeling like a damn had burst inside you. It was out now, and now you had to see it through to the end. "I didn't plan on falling in love with you. I wasn't prepared to love you this much. You're the one who wanted to take things further, and now you're—"

You're leaving me, you couldn't bring yourself to say. You really were happy for him. All of his dreams were coming true, and he had an ambition that matched yours, which made you love him more. And now that ambition was taking him far away from you, and you weren't handling it as well as you thought you would.

"Y/n—"

"I'm happy for you, H, I'm so happy for you that I could burst. And maybe even a little jealous," you joked, though there was some truth to what you said. "But I guess I just...I guess I didn't expect to love you this much. And I don't—I don't know what to do because you're going soon and I'm..."

You had no clue, and that alone was terrifying.

At the start of all this, you never imagined falling in love with Harry. He drove you absolutely insane, and despite your physical attraction to him, you kept your distance. But he kept doing these things that made you like him, and eventually care about him, and finally made you fall in love with him. It just wasn't something you saw coming. Love was definitely not on the brain when you met Harry.

Because you knew this moment was inevitable. The moment when one of you would be given an opportunity you couldn't refuse and would pull you away from each other. Once upon a time, you thought you would be given your dream job of a lifetime—competitive skating and hopefully the Olympics—but somewhere down the line, skating stopped bringing you joy, only pressure and anxiety. And now Harry had his dream job on the other side of the country, and you were left to flounder and wonder how you would survive waking up without him next to you.

"You're making it seem like it's a bad thing that you're in love with me," Harry said quietly, but the low tone of his voice didn't hide anything. You knew he was getting upset. After all the avoidance the last week—on your part—yours and his emotions were coming to a head.

"It's not! It's just that you're leaving!" you said, resisting the urge to run a frustrated hand through your hair. "And all week you've talked about how excited to get out of here and leave this all behind and start a new chapter in your life. I mean, would it kill you to act like you're a little torn up about leaving?"

It was so selfish, and you knew it was. It was why you'd been avoiding Harry, this conversation. Harry had every right to be proud and ecstatic for leaving to play in the professional league. He worked so hard, pushed himself farther than anyone you'd ever met, except for maybe you. Your pain was clouding your good sense, and now you'd shown just how horrible you could really be.

You couldn't look him in the eye after saying what you did. Even if it was how you felt, you still felt ashamed for raining on Harry's parade. "Y/n—" he tried to say when you hastily wiped a tear from your eye.

"I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry," you said, getting up from the couch and scurrying off to your bedroom.

Flopping on the bed, you pulled the covers over you, trying to hide from everything happening around you. It was too much. Your senior year was supposed to be fun and full of unforgettable memories, not arguments and heartache.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before the door opened and Harry slipped inside. He slid into bed next to you, and you didn't fight it when he rested his face in the crook of your neck. Because despite everything you were feeling, this was all you really needed.

"I'm not leaving you behind," he murmured gently. "You mean too much to me."

You sniffled, and Harry pulled you closer to his chest. "You're going to be thousands of miles away."

"Says who?" he said, kissing your cheek. "Who says you aren't coming with me?"

"And do what?" you huffed, even though the thought slightly lifted your spirits. "Be one of your...puck whatevers and follow you around like a puppy? I need a life of my own too."

You were being stubborn and argumentative and you both knew it. There was some relief in knowing Harry wanted you with him, but you also didn't want to just move because Harry was. You needed purpose, you needed to feel like your life had some sort of direction in it. But it was unfair to put all of that on Harry, and you didn't know how to express how you felt without sounding insane, so instead you said nothing, and that obviously went over brilliantly.

Harry chuckled. "See, because you just said how in love you are with me, I can tell that you're frosty attitude is just an act. Now turn over and look at me."

You reluctantly turned over, brow furrowed exaggeratedly because you couldn't cross your arms over your chest. It used to infuriate you how easily Harry could get under your skin because he knew you so well, that he knew just what to do or say to pull you out of a bad mood. In this moment, you were thankful. He could see past all the harsh words and see to the root of the problem. You'd said some things that were perhaps out of order, but Harry understood. Despite everything, he understood.

"You've worked just as hard as me, Y/n. I want to be there for you the way you've been for me. You can achieve your goals too."

"I just...I don't know if I want to achieve them anymore," you said quietly.

It was the first time you'd said it out loud. Since you'd learned to skate, there had only been one goal: the Olympics. Getting there wasn't just a matter of training, it was about devoting your life to your craft, it was barely having a life outside of training and competitions and giving all your time to winning. And after spending nearly your entire life doing it, you felt yourself slowly burning out. You'd go through your routines flawlessly, but your heart wasn't in it. All you could think about was the future—the next competition, the next training session, the next qualifier. It took seeing Harry so happy about being drafted to the minor leagues to realize the fire had gone out in you. Thinking of Olympic qualifiers and training and affording coaches and costumes and picking the right music only filled you with dread when you should've felt joy.

"Oh."

"But I don't know who I am if I don't have skating."

"You don't have to compete to skate, you know," Harry said. He rested his hand against your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your temple lightly. "You can c—"

"Oh God, don't say coach," you groaned. "It's perfect. You'll be a hockey superstar and I'll be the washed-up figure skater who couldn't handle the pressure of being an athlete and wound up coaching instead."

"I know you're being like this because you're scared, and that's okay," he said. "But I'll help you find a new dream, Y/n. I promise."

You had to blink away tears because your heart couldn't take how much he cared about you. "Even when I've been a complete bitch?"

"You haven't been. I'm sorry if you felt like I was leaving you behind. I guess in my mind we would always be together, no matter where we ended up."

"God I hate how much I love you sometimes," you grumbled while flinging yourself on top of Harry and holding him tight. "It's too much, you're too much, and I can't stand it—"

"There's a compliment in there somewhere, right?" Harry asked, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Sitting up, you perched yourself on him, your legs straddling his waist. Dipping down, you made sure your noses were brushing, but you didn't close the distance. Not yet. Your heart was racing simply because Harry had been so kind to you, because he knew you so well and said exactly what you needed to hear. It felt ridiculous to know that there was a time when he pissed you off so much you saw red, that his teasing remarks and cocky grin grated on your nerves. Now you didn't want to imagine a life without him.

"I'm sorry for saying all of those things," you murmured. "I really am proud of you. No one deserves this more than you do."

Harry's hand reached up and threaded through your hair, his fingers gentle as they passed over your scalp. "I know you are. And I mean it, Y/n. I'll help you. I know you love to skate, we just have to find a way to channel that into something else. If not coaching, maybe performing?"

"What? Like Disney on Ice?" you asked skeptically, your nose wrinkling at the thought.

Harry shrugged as his hand dipped beneath your shirt to stroke your back. "You'd be a cute princess."

"With my luck, they'd make me a tree."

"Then you'd be the cutest tree there ever was."

Shaking your head, you nudged your nose against his again. "Can we hit pause on talking about the future? I just want to be with you here. Right now."

"Course," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked grin. "And then maybe we can circle back to you being my puck whatever."

"Shut up."

"Make me!"

And that was something you knew how to do better than your skating routine.

#harry styles #hockey player!harry styles #ice skater!y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #hockeyrry

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kitkatscabinet · 6 months

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Step into my parlour, said the spider

Stepbro! Simon x reader

Warnings: this one’s kind of deranged. Simon is a fucked up little freak. I mean it when I say this is dark, read with discretion. Implications of murder, and non-con

Word count: 1.5k

Once again 141 server bringing out the worst in me, @chxrryghost @cooliofango see you guys in hell 🫡

Before you, life was a series of dull greys and monochromes, there was no warmth, just cold never-ending darkness that persisted in the form of his father's abuse. That didn’t matter now though, because nothing before you mattered.

Simon is nine years old when the angel (you) starts to live with them, he’s got no clue how his deadbeat of a father managed to finagle another woman into marrying him but he pays little mind to his new step-mum when he has you.

You’re five years older than him, but you’re not like Tommy or dad at all. You’re kind and you tuck him into bed and give him cuddles and kisses that make him feel all fuzzy inside. You take him to the park and protect him from his dad. You try to hide the dark bruises that litter your skin, a consequence of shielding him, but Simon’s not so naive.

He grows up hiding in your shadow, falling deeper and deeper into an obsessively deranged love for his saviour, the only person who loves him and treats him kindly. He seethes silently, waiting for the moment he’s big enough to protect you instead.

By the time you’re sixteen, your mother has split, leaving you behind though you reassure Simon that you’d never have left him anyway. His father’s been out of a job for a while and you’ve been running yourself ragged to support Simon and Tommy. Tommy the bastard that he is doesn't appreciate the work you do and Simon is once again forced to grit his teeth and seethe as he watches you come home every evening like a zombie. Some mornings you don’t even make it to the bed to fall asleep, though Simon’s always waiting, dragging you under the covers before burrowing his way into your side.

You let yourself get degraded by filthy men that slap your ass and call you names just for a measly tip. You’re one of the prettiest people on the planet which, unfortunately, attracts a lot of attention from the disgusting dregs of society. Boys your age and older, far too old to even consider glancing your way. The few brave enough to hover are always quickly scared off by Simon’s intense glares, and he preens when you pat his hair in thanks.

His dad notices too and Simon comes home from school one afternoon to find the man on top of you, hands wrapped around your neck as you struggle beneath him. A plate shatters over his dad's head and it’s not until Simon is on the floor and his old man is red in face, screaming at him that Simon realises what he’s done.

You’re screaming and you shove his dad from behind, scooping Simon into your arms with adrenaline-fuelled strength you wouldn’t normally possess and are locking you and him in your shared room. Barricading the door and squishing Simon against you as your breath rattles.

You fall asleep with Simon nestled against your chest, none the wiser to how his blood chants with the fervour of a thousand men, mine, mine, mine.

The universe finally seems to give you a break after that, his dad leaves the both of you alone and not long after your 18th birthday you get a cushy, well-paying job as a secretary for some hot-shot lawyer. Though Simon gets a little upset when you spend all your money on him, new clothes, new books for school, a GameBoy, whatever he wants.

Best of all, his dad dies. The alcohol and drugs finally taking their toll on his body. (It’s not until a few years later that he’ll realise you were entirely too calm when the police came knocking. Serving them tea as you pretended to be shocked about the news.)

You get custody of him and Tommy and you move them into a much nicer neighbourhood. Though Simon’s not happy at having his own room and often sneaks back into your bed, knowing that you’ll simply sigh and open your arms for him, letting him snuggle against your chest.

Simon should’ve known better, should’ve known that his happiness wouldn’t last. It’s not even a year into what you called the start of his new life that he comes home one afternoon from school to find you sobbing into your hands, hair and outfit dishevelled. Though you refuse to give him the details of what happened he manages to put two and two together from the state of your being and the knowledge that you’ve been fired.

You take up waitressing again but it’s not enough. He’s not sure who ends up reporting it but a few days before his 14th birthday Simon gets taken away from you, no matter how much he kicks and screams. He tries to run away a few times but he’s always found and dragged away from you again.

You move away not long after, having been offered a once-in-a-lifetime scholarship. Simon tries to understand as you explain through tears, kissing his forehead for the last time. He knows it’s selfish of him to feel betrayed but he can’t help it. Can’t accept that you’re leaving him. He doesn’t cry, instead, he immediately starts plotting. This is just a minor bump in the road, he’ll spend every waking moment until he’s eighteen perfecting his skills and plans and then nothing will keep you apart ever again.

Time passes by excruciatingly slow, the only positive is that he’d finally grown even further, and had sprouted in height and musculature so much that he fears you might not recognise him. It takes him another extra year to find you, but when he’s twenty-three, with military resources at his disposal he finally, finally sees you again in person.

You’re still the picture of perfection, clothes hugging your form so tantalisingly that Simon feels his cock throb in the confines of his pants just from seeing you. He steps forward, weaving through the crowd of the market only to stop in his tracks when a man wraps his arms around your midsection. Instead of rebuffing the touch you lean back and smile against him and Simon feels as if the Earth has been pulled from his feet.

How could you do this to him?

He’s waited so faithfully for you all these years and you’ve replaced him? He watches as you kiss the interloper with a smile and Simon clenches his fists in fury so harshly his palms bleed. How many men had you let into your bed? How long did it take for you to forget him?

The plan’s changed. You’ve forced him into this. It’s not his fault that he’s had to plant cameras throughout your house. It’s not his fault that you’re so tantalising it forces him to break into your house, stealing your used panties to help get himself off. It’s not his fault you force him to learn you and your boyfriend’s schedule and it’s not his fault your scumbag partner doesn’t take his carefully worded hint to leave you.

Your boyfriend is dead. Unfortunate, but needs must. Simon watches you sob into your pillow, hard as a rock as he imagines licking the tears from your cheeks and decides he can’t wait any longer.

You’re so distraught that you don’t even notice Simon is in your house, you don’t notice until he swings the bedroom door open and you look up with a scream. He supposes he must make something of a terrifying sight, he’s a large man, and his face is covered by his trademark skull balaclava.

Simon allows you a few seconds to scramble around in panic before he crosses the distance, trapping your back to his chest and groaning as he humps into your ass. You scream, hitting at his arms as the tears start to flow anew and Simon throws you down on the mattress, weighing you down with his bulk.

“Please, you don’t have to do this” you beg with teary eyes that do nothing but fuel his arousal. He does take pity on you though, restraining your wrists with his right hand and using his left to tug off his mask. He watches as your eyes gradually widen, elation filling his chest as recognition fills them.

“Simon?” your voice wobbles and his name has never sounded better. Groaning, he rests his forehead against your collarbone, taking calming breaths to stop from cumming then and there. It’s okay though, he’s got all the time in the world now. You’ll spend the rest of your lives together, you’ll never be apart again.

#x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kat’s writing #cod ghost #cod simon riley #simon riley

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tired-and-ticklish · 3 months

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Bonding Exercise

Sequel to “Rough Day”

Summary: Angel and Husk try to escape Charlie’s new idea for a bonding exercise, but The Princess, her girlfriend, and a certain Radio Demon are persistent.

TW: Tickling (slightly intense), Swearing, Slight Restraints, Alastor being a bastard, References to Alastor’s past, Angel Dust being Angel Dust.

Disclaimer: I do not support V*v*z*epop, I simply like the characters and exploring their dynamics, usually in silly ways.

Part Three

“One~”

Despite the distance the two demons had put between themselves and the Radio Demon, they both could clearly hear his voice, accentuating how absolutely fucked they were. Angel was a bit faster, his longer legs giving him an advantage, but Husk wasn’t far behind, running quicker than he ever had in his life or unlife.

“Split up!” Angel exclaimed, quickly turning down a random hallway.

“Don’t need to fucking tell me twice!” Husk replied, almost skidding to a halt as he course-corrected down an entirely different hallway.

Charlie stopped upon seeing them both go in different directions, pouting slightly “Now who do we go after?”

“How about you two go after our effeminate fellow, and I’ll go after Husker?” Alastor suggested, though Vaggie raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not trying to torture them.” The bodyguard replied, to which the deer waved a hand.

“If I intended to torture either of those two, everyone would know.” Alastor replied, the radio effects of his voice becoming more sinister, but just for a moment. “No, I simply think our dear bartender needs to smile a bit more!”

“Come on Vaggie, I think I know where Angel’s running!” Charlie exclaimed, grabbing her girlfriend by the arm before she could protest and starting down a different hallway.

Vaggie couldn’t help but give Charlie a smile, despite thinking the whole idea was a bit ridiculous. Still, it gave her an excuse to get Angel back for all the times the spider demon had messed with them, or done anything that pushed back his ‘progress.’ She also knew she couldn’t find it in herself to say ‘no’ to the Princess, especially when she got that determined glimmer in her eyes.

“Good luck, darlings!” Alastor called as they both ran off, before continuing his own pursuit of the bartender.

—

Angel ran as fast as his legs could carry him, listening for any signs of his pursuers. All he needed to do was get to his room and barricade himself in there until Charlie forgot this whole dumb idea. However, Hell was more likely to freeze over than its Princess giving up or forgetting any of her ideas.

The spider knew his room was close, and he hadn’t seen or heard any of the purseres. Maybe that all went after Husk? A small shudder went up Angel’s spine as he looked behind him. As much as he did not want to be tickled again, the idea of the cat demon being tickled by Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor was a fate he wouldn’t wish upon anyone in the hotel.

“Oh Angel!” He was torn from his thoughts, looking forward and almost screaming as he saw The Princess and her girlfriend, waiting right in front of his door.

“Found you.” Vaggie said, grinning mischievously.

Angel attempted to turn on his heel, but couldn’t slow down enough for it to be effective. His legs got tangled in one another, and he tumbled to the floor, groaning as he did. Before he could even attempt to get up and flee, the girls were upon him, Vaggie holding his upper pair of arms over his head, while Charlie straddled his waist.

“L-Ladies please,” Angel attempted to beg, tugging his arms as best he could. “Y-You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, we know.” Vaggie said with a sly grin. “But we want to.”

Charlie immediately started skittering her figures on Angel’s stomach, making the spider snicker. Angel attempted to shove the Princess off with his lower set of arms, but anytime he tried, Charlie would ‘accidentally’ tickle a bit harder, making him lose focus.

“C-Chaahahaharlihihihihe wahahahait!”

“Awww but Angel, you look so happy right now!”

“Behehehecause yohohohou’re tihihihihckling mehehehe!”

Angel squealed as Charlie’s claws made their way to his lower set of armpits, shaking his head. In his attempts to plead with the Princess, he didn’t notice until it was too late that Vaggie had changed her position, pinning his upper arms with her legs, soon feeling her fingers on his ribs.

“EEP! NohhoohoHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHerehehehe!” Angel shrieked, his face turning a light pink shade.

“Hey, Angel, do you have more or less ribs as a spider?” Vaggie asked, ignoring his pleas. “Guess I need to double check.”

“Dohohohon’t YOHOHOOHHOU DAHAHAHRE, Vahahahahagina!”

The pornstar felt Vaggie stop tickling him for a moment, making him realize he had just dug his own second grave. Any begging he could have done was soon cut off by the feeling of the hotel guard’s fingers slowly and torturously dragging over his ribs, followed shortly by her counting.

“SHIHIHIHIT SIHIHIHHIT IHIHIHIHI’M SOHOHOHOHRRY!” Angel cried out, kicking his legs as the girls continued tickling him.

“Two… three… Fiv- Wait, that’s not right.” The spider could practically hear the smirk in Vaggie’s voice “Can you hold still? I’m trying to count.”

“IHIHIHIHI CAHHAHAAN’T!” Angel whined

“Aww, sure you can Angel!” Charlie said encouragingly. “I’ll even go slower so you can focus!”

At that, Angel felt Charlie’s tactic switch from scribbling on his lower armpits, and a finger on each one just slowly start circling around the hollows, driving him up a wall. It tickled just enough to get him giggling, but also left him wanting more. The spider was starting to get the suspicion that somehow, someway, the girlfriends had gotten Cherri Bomb to tell them exactly how to destroy him.

“Five… six… Huh, you’re actually doing a good job.” Vaggie said as she tickled between his ribs “Guess the redemption work is paying off.”

“Well, he hasn’t asked us to stop.” Charlie pointed out, making Angel’s face turn an even darker shade of pink. “Maybe he’s enjoying this~?”

Fuck, despite how kind Charlie was, she was absolutely fucking evil when it came to tickling.

—-

Alastor hummed as he casually walked the direction Husk went. Sure, the Radio Demon could simply summon the bartender to him, but where was the fun in that? If there was one thing he loved more than the act of killing, it was the thrill of the chase. The fear and desperation in people’s eyes, the absolute panic that washed over as they were cornered, before he descended upon them.

An expression he’d like to see on that obnoxious, pompous, piece of shit television one day.

It was an expression he had seen Husker make many times over their years knowing each other. Though, often that was because the cat had done something to make the deer angry. Now? Now, Alastor would be seeing the hotel’s dear bartender making that expression for an entirely different reason.

It was one of the reasons he suggested to be the one to go after Husk. Not just due to their longer time knowing each other, but because the Radio Demon was already aware of what would cause the cat to break from his usual grumpy demeanor. Surely, people would assume Alastor of all people would think tickling was a waste of time, but oh, how he enjoyed it.

Spending time with both Husk and Niffty, he had learned a few things. Specifically, the maid wasn’t at all ticklish, whereas the bartender was entirely too ticklish for his own good. If nothing else, Alastor was known for dealing in extremes.

“Ah, there you are!” Alastor exclaimed, seeing Husk had run himself into a corner, the cat quickly turning to look at him.

“Shit, fuck, dammit!” A string of expletives left the bartender’s mouth as he tried to look for a way to escape. Any hopes of that were cut off by the shadows that followed the Radio Demon pinned the cat to the wall. “Look, boss, t-this whole thing is ridiculous.”

“Oh, on the contrary, Husker, I think this will be quite enjoyable!” Alastor said, looking the bartender over. So many good places to start, and each eliciting a different reaction from Husk.

Husk, meanwhile, tried to free himself. If he hadn’t known any better, the cat would have assumed Alastor somehow planned all of this. Which, he really couldn’t put past the deer, but planning for Nift to tickle Angel, leading to this whole thing? That was the type of planning not even the Radio Demon could come up with.

Mostly because no one could really ‘plan’ for anything with it came to the hotel maid.

“I recall this,” Alastor began, the claws on his right hand gently wiggling on Husk’s chin. “Being a wonderful place to start.”

The reaction was instant, the cat’s fur quickly puffing up slightly as he bit his lip. He wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction, not if he could help it. Of course, he had tried, and failed, in the past, but that didn’t mean he was just going to give in to the Radio Demon’s antics.

“Still trying that tactic, are we?” The deer hummed in amusement, moving his other hand to Husk’s side. “I never understand why you must make things so difficult!”

A few snickers came out, but the bartender was determined, trying to squirm away from Alastor’s hands. Said hands simply followed where the cat moved. Now, Alastor could use his powers to tickle multiple spots at once, but that was something reserved for those who pissed him off enough to face his wrath, but not enough to where he’d be satisfied by killing them.

“You know, Husker,” Alastor said casually, like he wasn’t tickling the demon before him. “When we were filming that ridiculous commercial for the hotel, I had half a mind to have our darling Niffty tickle you, just off-camera, so you’d be smiling!”

“Bihihihihite me!” Husk replied, doing his best to glare at the Overlord.

“A poor choice of words, considering who you’re talking to.” The Radio Demon chuckled, now slowly moving his left hand toward the bartender’s side. “You should really think before you speak.”

Husk tried to growl at Alastor, but it was cut off by the ticklish feeling on his side. More snickers gave way, the cat demon’s lips forming a wobbly smile despite his best efforts. He felt the deer’s right hand move from his chin and start poking his ribs, making the bartender snort a bit. He knew the deer was messing with him, taking his time before going right for Husk’s death spot.

“I never tire of counting your ribs, Husker.” Alastor mused. “Afterall, I need to make sure you’re all together!”

“Yohohohohou cohohohohocky bahahahastard!” Husk retorted.

Alastor tsked, and the cat felt himself start to panic as the Overlord’s hands went toward his stomach. “Always with the fowl language, that should be reserved for birds!”

If Husk could groan, he would. Of course Alastor had to get one of his stupid ‘jokes’ in while the bartender couldn’t just walk out of the room. Though, the puns did help whenever the Radio Demon wanted Angel Dust to leave him alone. He didn’t know what was worse, the Overlord’s love of ‘dad jokes’, or his insatiable sadistic streak.

“Wohohohuld yoohohhou stohohohp- FUHUUHUHUHCK!” Husk exclaimed as Alastor scratched and clawed at his stomach. The first of the bartender’s worst spots.

Once he was sure Husk couldn’t escape, Alastor snapped his fingers, causing the shadows to let him go as the bartender slid to the floor, still trying to run away from the Radio Demon’s fingers. The deer poked and prodded, even circling a finger slowly around where the cat’s belly button would be.

“Don’t cats enjoy having their stomachs petted?” Alastor teased, a small laugh track coming from him.

“THAHAHAT’S dohohohohohgs yohohoHOHOHO PRIHIHIHICK!”

“Ah, forgive me.” Alastor said, not at all sounding apologetic “I was never a ‘dog’ person. Cats are much more amusing!”

“Thhihihihihis IHIHIHISN’T AMUHuhuhuhuhumsing!”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, but you wouldn’t be laughing if it wasn’t!”

Husk was going to kill him. Okay, no, he wasn’t that stupid or reckless, but he was going to make sure the Radio Demon paid for this. However, Husk’s plans of revenge were cut off by the feeling of two of Alastor’s tendrils stroking his wings, causing the bartender to scream with laughter.

“You know, I think Niffty needs to brush your wings soon, when was the last time she did that?” Alastor asked, despite knowing Husk wouldn’t be able to answer.

Despite both Angel and Husk being tickled out of their minds, they both hated to admit they were having fun. Maybe Charlie’s idea wasn’t so dumb.

#hazbin hotel tickle #tickle fic #tickle #lee!angeldust #lee!husk #ler!vaggie #ler!charlie #ler!alastor #a LOT of ya'll wanted part 2 so here you go #will there be a part 3? probably. Angel and Husk need their revenge #sorry it cuts off weirdly I wanted to finish this before I disappear for a week to spend time with my bf

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zepskies · 5 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 16

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Run to You” by the Pentatonix

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: Physical altercation, perilous situations, fire hazards, injuries, angst, Nick and Azazel being evil psychos.

Part 16: “Break Down the Gates”

The holiday couldn’t last forever. Eventually, you had to go back to work.

Dean didn’t like it, and neither did you. Hell, even Sam had tried to find an opening in the district attorney’s office for you. Unfortunately, all of the positions you were remotely qualified for were filled.

And as your bills had to get paid, it meant you had to take Betsy all the way up to the 22nd floor of the Savage & Co. building on a Monday morning.

Dean was already calling you.

You couldn’t answer until you got off the elevator and away from its shitty reception, but you let out a sigh before you called him back.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” Dean asked.

“I’m good. I just got to my office,” you replied. I was also fine 20 minutes ago on the road.

You had to be patient though. You knew he was worried about you, now for more than one good reason.

“Good. Got your taser all charged up?”

“Yep, it’s in my purse,” you said. You closed the door to your office and locked it. “Which is going in my desk. You’re at the station?”

“Yeah, having my coffee right now.”

“Okay, tell the guys I said hi.”

“Will do,” said Dean. “You need anything, just call me. If you can’t get ahold of me, call Cas, or Sam, or even my dad.”

“I promise I will,” you replied. “I have to get to work here, but I hope you have a good day. And be safe.”

“That I will,” he promised in turn. “You too, baby.”

You smiled.

Once you hung up with Dean and got settled at your desk, you started by powering through your work emails. All too soon, however, there was a knock at your door. You fought against the tremor of unease that ran up your spine.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“It’s Marv,” replied your coworker, through the door. “Since when do you lock yourself in your office?”

You let out a breath and smiled. You got up and went to let him in. “I’ve found that people are less likely to interrupt me when they can’t get in.”

When the door opened, Marv gave you a look of begrudging acceptance.

“I hear ya,” he said. The man was a hermit himself, so if anyone was going to understand your self-barricading, it was Marv.

He handed you a hard-copy manilla envelope containing his monthly report, because he also had a disdain for email.

“Why don’t you give this to Nick yourself?” you asked with a frown.

Marv held up placating hands. “Because he’s an ass, and I can only deal with so much idiocy in my life.”

“Then give it to Josh! He’s the new Senior Manager,” you pointed out.

“Josh kisses Nick’s ass. Therefore, he’s become an even bigger idiot,” Marv replied. “I’m telling you, my constitution just can’t bear it.”

You rolled your eyes and took the folder from him. “All right, get outta here. I’ll deal with this.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He soon left to return to his hole of an office. You’d only been in there once. It had been stacked to high heaven with books and loose papers. You didn’t know how the man functioned, but you assumed it was equal parts caffeine and Prozac.

So you took the report, and you went up to the 30th floor for the first time in months.

You went down the hall to Josh’s office first, but you could hear from the other side of the closed door that he was locked in a meeting with one of the more difficult clients.

You could come back later, or just drop the folder off with Nick’s assistant.

You went back down the hall and found that Nick’s office door was cracked open, but you weren’t about to go in, even just to deliver a simple report. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone enter his office.

His assistant was out on a break, it seemed, so you couldn’t just give it to her. You contemplated leaving it on her desk with a note. But that’s when you heard the voices coming from within the office.

“As you know, my father’s back in town,” you heard Nick say. You inched closer to the door and cautiously peeked through the three inches of space in the doorway. There was another man inside, slightly taller than Nick, but leaner. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plaid shirt. His long arms were crossed as he listened.

You could tell by the way he stood, however, that this wasn’t an associate from one of their accounts. He didn’t look like a businessman or a lawyer. The way he stood was sharper, more calculated even in his laxness.

Your brain caught up with the conversation as Nick continued to speak.

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your gaze widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

You blinked in shock. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

Your heart pounded while you searched for a way out of the hallway, out of plain sight. You found the nearest bathroom and went into the women’s. It seemed empty, at least.

There you rushed into one of the stalls and locked it. You realized that you had your phone in your pocket, and you took it out with trembling hands. Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name as panicked breaths escaped you.

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

“He’s Nick’s father,” you hissed. Trying to contain yourself and speak quietly was not easy. “I met him once at a company networking event, like a month after I got hired. Daniel Savage. He built Savage & Co. from the ground up. But he handed off the reigns to Nick years ago.”

It seemed to take John a moment to compute on that one, but he eventually replied.

“You’re at the office now?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah!” you replied testily. “I’m hiding out in a bathroom stall.”

“Okay, take it slow, all right?” he said. “You’re gonna go back to your office, calm. Like you didn’t just hear what you heard. You’re gonna take an early lunch, and you’re gonna come straight to the precinct for me. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay. I need to call Dean,” you said.

“I’ll fill him in. Just focus on getting out of there,” John said.

You agreed, but you still felt shaky when you ended the call. No one had entered the bathroom, and it had been a few minutes already, so you chanced stepping out of the stall and into the hallway. That too was empty.

You sucked in another steadying breath. This time you went down the stairs to get back to your office. It felt unusually warm in the stairwell. Hot enough that you actually started to sweat on the way down to the 22nd floor.

Damn, did the AC break or something?

You made it back to your office, though when you opened the door, you were unable to be relieved. Nick sat in your chair at your desk. He gave you a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out,” you snapped. You had no patience for another tête-à-tête with him today; especially after what you just saw.

And it hit you then. You were a witness.

You eyed Nick more warily. He had one of his gold golf clubs in his hand, and he leaned on it as he stood. He set up a putter’s stance next to your desk and hit a golf ball with a gentle swing. The ball rolled into your flat shoe.

“I want to go over that report you brought upstairs,” he said.

You shook your head and went cautiously over to your desk. Your purse was inside (you were kicking yourself for not taking it with you upstairs). Nick was too close to your desk for comfort, until he moved to retrieve his golf ball. It allowed you to move farther into the room.

“Anything you want to discuss can be done via email. Right now, I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” you lied. Your gaze was off the man for maybe a few seconds while you grabbed your purse from inside the desk. Another realization hit you in that moment.

How did he know it was me who brought the report?

By the time you looked up, Nick was shutting the door to your office. He tilted his head at you with a darker edge to his smile.

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he said.

You steeled yourself with a breath. You felt inside your purse, and your hand wrapped around your taser. You pulled it out and switched it on, pointing it towards him.

“Step away from the door or I’ll fry your ass,” you threatened. It lost its effect somewhat, with the way your hand was shaking, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

Nick raised his brows at you. He still had his golf club in hand. His movements were slow as he stepped away from the door, and closer towards you.

“Sure you know how to work that thing?” he teased with a shrug of his shoulders. “If I were you, I’d take a breath. Relax a bit. Come sit on my knee.”

That last bit was teasing, despite the way he eyed you, even now with a shade of desire. The kind that claimed and stole in its taking. It made you want to spit in his face.

“You’re a bastard,” you replied. “Turns out, the bastard apple doesn’t fall far from the bastard tree.”

“Watch it,” Nick warned. You saw the dangerous edge in his blue eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

He swung the club at your head.

You managed to duck, yelping as it crashed into a lamp instead. You tried to run for the door, but that was when Nick grabbed you by the hair and nearly yanked the hairclip right out.

A short scream escaped your lips as you grabbed for his wrist. He shoved you hard into the wall, where you lost your footing and fell. Your head cracked against the accent table that once held the lamp, and your vision blurred on the way down. Glass crackled under your arm and bit into your cheek.

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser. His hands fell away from you and he went down like an elephant, jolting and writhing on the ground. You gasped for breath above him while you realized what you’d just done. You tilted your head down at him.

No, you weren’t done.

You grabbed his golf club with your free hand. When he tried to reach for your ankle, you jammed the heavy club into his hand until he shouted in pain. For every moment of frustration, anxiety, and fear this man had caused you, you gave it back to him with one heavy swing of that club into his stomach. (And maybe one more for good measure.)

He doubled over, groaning, coughing a bit of blood. You tossed the golf club and grabbed your purse with a shaking hand. You left him where he laid.

As soon as you open the door, however, you were pushed back by the cloud of incoming smoke. You coughed and squinted against it, but your eyes widened again when you realized what was happening.

The building was on fire.

For some reason the alarms weren’t going off, but it was clear to see what was in front of you. Smoke was clogging the halls. People were rushing out of their offices for the stairwell. You couldn’t help glancing back at Nick; he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Part of you knew he might not make it if you left him, but when he looked up at you, with pure hatred, your fear overrode any mercy that might’ve made you turn around.

So you fled for the stairwell behind the small crowd. There were flames making their way down along with the smoke. That was all right, because you all were running in the opposite direction.

You had to blink a drop of blood out of your eyes, and you raised a shaky hand to a cut above your brow, which was also tender to the touch. You were bleeding, clearly, but you couldn’t think about that right now. You were just trying your best not to get pushed or trampled while you hastened down several floors.

The signs pointed to Floor 10 when you felt a buzzing in your pocket. It was your phone, you realized. You were about to fish it out of your pocket, but you were forced to stop short on the stairs, along with everyone else.

The flames were coming from the floor below as well, blocking your exit.

Once again, Dean frowned while checking his phone. You still hadn’t answered his text from an hour ago. Benny came to sit beside him on the couch in the firehouse common room.

“What’s got you spacin’ out?” Benny asked, noting his friend’s mood.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, Benny.”

Benny’s brows furrowed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Before Dean could answer, his phone rang in his hand. He perked up to answer it, until he realized it was his dad calling. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean greeted.

“Thanks to your girl, we know who Azazel is,” John said. “Daniel Savage. Nick is his son.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach; his shock was followed swiftly by worry.

“What? How’d she find that out?”

“She called me this morning. I told her to come straight to the precinct, but she’s not here yet. That was an hour ago,” John said gravely.

Dean’s eyes widened.

And then the alarm sounded overhead. Over the intercom the dispatcher reported a working fire at a commercial building. The address was the same as your work building: Savage & Co.

“Is that you?” John asked, once the intercom message was finished.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He was already up and out of the firehouse, getting his turnout gear on with the phone pressed to his ear. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his tone was rock steady.

“If she’s still in that building, I’m gonna find her.”

Firehouses 18 and 20 had already arrived by the time Firehouse 25 got to the scene of the Savage & Co. building. The flames were sky-high, consuming from the top and the bottom. Just by looking at it, Dean thought there had to have been at least two points of origin (where the fire was started). He doubted this was an accident.

“Okay, 25,” Chief Singer said to the entire Truck 79 and Rescue Squad crew. “House 20 got here first, so Chief Sanderson’s calling the shots. He requested our help in clearing the first five floors. Their crew is already on floors 30 through 20. House 18 has the middle.”

Dean went up to Bobby and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. He filled him in on what John had just told him about Azazel, and that you were most likely somewhere in the building.

“She’s in there, Chief. I have to find her,” Dean said.

Bobby saw the desperation in the younger man’s eyes, and he sympathized. “Have you tried calling her again?”

“She’s not answering,” Dean replied. “If he found out what she knows, he could be after her. That means she could be somewhere near the top.”

“Or she’s in the middle. Or she’s already out of the building,” Bobby reasoned. He quelled Dean’s protest with a raised hand. It then fell on the younger man’s shoulder. “I understand, son. But I’ve got a protocol to follow, and so do you, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s lips pressed together. He knew his rank and his responsibility, but you were in danger. You could already be hurt, or trapped, or…

Dean rounded up Truck 79 with swift, barking orders. After donning their helmets and masks, his and Benny’s team made their way inside. The first floor was wall to wall rolling flames. The heat was nearly overwhelming, like entering the gates of hell.

There was no moving safely through the first floor, so they had to move on to the closest stairwell and try to make it up to the second. Dean held Benny back for a moment.

“I’m going up! Stick with the guys,” Dean said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony inside the stairwell.

Benny frowned. “What’re you doin’? You heard the Chief!”

Dean shook his head. He knew he was about to defy a direct order, but he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you were still in the building somewhere.

“I’ve gotta find her,” he said.

“You think I don’t want to find Andréa?” Benny said. “She hasn’t answered my calls either. They could be anywhere, Dean!”

Dean clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You’re making my point, man.”

And he took off up the stairs before Benny could stop him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Benny shouted after him.

“Where’s he going?” Jack asked. He and Gordon were the only ones to hang back while the rest of their crew followed their orders and searched the second floor, not realizing that their Lieutenant was no longer with them.

“To go be an idiot,” Benny growled. But he wasted no more time. He followed Dean up the stairwell.

Gordon shared a quick look with Jack before he started his own climb up the stairs.

“You can follow protocol, or you can back up the Lieutenant,” Gordon called down.

In that moment, Jack made a decision. He followed Gordon and Benny.

You had to follow the rest of the crowd after you all couldn’t make it down the rest of the stairs safely. It landed you somewhere on the 10th floor, where the group scattered. Your head was aching, your heart pounded in your ears, and you didn’t know where to go.

You fled for the stairwell on the other side of the building, and in turning a corner, you smacked right into Andréa. You gasped when you caught hold of each other.

“Oh my God!” she cried, and she grabbed you into a hug. “Are you okay? Why’re you bleeding?”

“Catch up later,” you choked out. It was so hard to breathe; you were coughing every few moments.

She looked on you worriedly and let out a cough herself. “Come on.”

She pulled you along with her by the arm. You joined a smaller group that were heading for the opposite stairwell. Unfortunately, not all of you would make it there.

A piece of the weakened ceiling crumbled and fell in a fiery heap. Andréa had been just a couple steps in front of you, and it meant you saw it before she did. You pushed her forward so she would make it across. You were forced to stop short and protect your face from the embers.

You nearly tripped and fell back, but you used the wall to steady yourself. You looked up at the sound of Andréa calling your name. You found her terrified face. There was now a wall of fire separating you from her and the rest of the group.

“Keep going!” you coughed. “I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” she called back. She pushed away the man that tried to urge her on towards the stairwell.

“Go!” you shouted, even though it raked across your throat. You forced yourself to straighten up and turn away from her. The only chance you had was if there was a way around this hallway that still led to the stairs.

Oh shit, you gasped when you turned the corner. The fire was only getting worse. The building was being consumed, and you almost couldn’t see past a few feet in front of you with all the smoke. It stung in your eyes and clogged your throat.

You stumbled along until you found a room that you could escape into. It was another restroom. The fire hadn’t yet reached inside the women’s bathroom on this floor; maybe you could wait it out like you would a tornado.

Okay, clearly I’m fucking delirious, you thought. You huddled in a corner under the sink and tried and failed to take even breaths without coughing or panicking. You pulled out your phone with shaking hands and tried once again to call Dean. The reception was absolute shit in the entire building now.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

But despite your dismayed thoughts, he actually answered.

“Hey! Baby, are you there?!”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You clutched at the phone. “Dean!”

You coughed, and you realized smoke was rising under the bathroom door now. The fire would spread here soon enough.

“Where are you? I’m here at your building!”

“Bathroom, 10th floor!” you managed to reply. “I couldn’t get out.”

“It’s okay. I’m coming right now,” he said. “Stay put for me.”

“Yeah,” you said, with a shaky breath. You couldn’t exactly leave. “Dean, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Where’s…r—oom?”

He was glitching in and out. You gripped the phone tighter in panic. “Dean?”

“Can…ear m…”

“Dean!” Your tears fell anew. You had another reason to struggle for breath as you tried to reach him.

You slid out from under the sink to try and get better reception, but it was no use. The call failed.

“Shit!” You nearly tossed your cell across the room out of sheer frustration.

Then you paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. Should you leave your momentary shelter to go and find him, or would that just run the risk of him never finding you.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do.

God, I’m so fucking screwed…

You slumped against the wall and tried to stifle your coughing, all while you also tried (and failed) to form some kind of a plan.

Until the bathroom door bursting open startled a scream out of you. Was the fire coming in?!

The move did allow more smoke to infiltrate the bathroom, but instead of the fire, you saw a firefighter in all his gear. This time, it did include the helmet.

“Fire Department!” he called out.

You would know that voice anywhere. And even through the mask, you recognized the man’s eyes when he went to you.

“Dean,” you sobbed. It was halted only by a series of lung-wracking coughs and wheezing. He quickly took his helmet and mask off so he could fit the mask over your soot-covered face.

“It’s okay, deep breaths. I gotcha, baby, just breathe,” Dean encouraged. His arm was around your waist, holding you close while the oxygen finally allowed you to take in slower breaths and relax against him.

“Okay, let’s get out of here, huh?” he said. He put his helmet back on.

You grabbed the front of his jacket. “Don’t you need the mask?”

You were still having trouble breathing, coughing on every other word. Dean shook his head.

“You need it more right now,” he said.

You realized that Benny was holding the bathroom door open.

“We gotta go!” he said.

“Benny, Andréa was here,” you said. His eyes widened behind his mask. “She got out, I think. She made it to the west stairwell.”

“Okay, yeah, because no one’s getting out the east wing,” Gordon said. You noted him standing just behind Benny, with Jack in tow.

“There’s a block,” you said, pointing just ahead where you saw the pile of debris. More parts of the ceiling had crumbled around it, making it a fiery minefield. There was no other way around it at this point—only through it.

Gordon and Jack went through first, followed by Benny. With their jackets and protective gear, they were able to jump through like a flaming hoop. And they would be able to help catch you and Dean from the other side.

“Okay, you ready?” Dean asked.

“If I say no?” you said, holding onto him tighter. His hand soothed over your hair. You’d lost your clip a long time ago (along with your purse), so your hair was probably wild and frizzy and covered in soot, along with the rest of you.

Dean grinned down at you. “Then I’d say, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Even now, through your fear, he could make you smile. You steeled yourself and took a breath. You could hear it so clearly with the mask on. That, and your own heartbeat.

He counted down to three, and on the last beat, Dean covered your head and shoulders and ran with you under the flame-covered ceiling. He managed to help you jump over the fiery debris on the ground. On both of your heavy landings, a wooden support beam fell.

There was a shout from Benny, but it was too late. All Dean could do was cover you. The beam broke over his back and knocked his helmet clean off. He took you with him when he fell.

Your scream rang out—half at the fall, but mostly for Dean. It was Benny who dragged you and Dean out first. Gordon and Jack took over hefting an unconscious Dean, while Benny hauled you up onto your feet and led you to the west stairwell.

You passed out just as you felt fresh air hit the mask.

You woke to bright, fluorescent lighting that made you wince. An oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose and was strapped around your head. You made a sound of discomfort and tried to take it off, but a hand stilled yours.

“Don’t.”

Eileen’s concerned face came into view. You were confused, though happy to see her.

“You’re in the hospital,” she said. When you tried to speak, she held up a finger to you. Wait, said her eyes.

She took out her phone from her jean pocket to text someone.

“Sam is coming,” she told you, before she drew closer to sooth a hand up and down your arm. You felt tears in your eyes at just that small comfort.

They fell in earnest when Sam entered your hospital room. His eyes held the concern of a friend and a brother as he approached on your other side.

“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You wheezed a breath and rasped, “Water.”

Sam nodded and grabbed you a plastic cup filled with cold water. It felt like literal heaven once the mask was off and you were able to drink. He helped you while Eileen held the mask away from your face.

After you’d had all you could drink, he took the cup and Eileen placed the mask back over your face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked, after clearing your throat. You still sounded like a chain smoker, and your head was pounding. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable,” Sam said, with a sigh. But when he didn’t offer anything more, you raised expectant brows at him.

“What else?” you said. Your tone told him not to skimp on any more details.

Sam’s gaze met yours. “The beam burned through his jacket, on his back. It hit his head. They…had to perform a minor surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, but he’s stable in recovery now.”

He was quick to add on that last bit when you began to crumble. Eileen encouraged you to breathe through your tears. The oxygen could only do half the battle if you didn’t breathe properly.

“I want to see him,” you said.

Sam frowned and held up a placating hand. “I don’t think that’s—”

You ignored him and tried to sit up. With or without his approval, you were getting out of this bed.

“Okay, you’re not listening,” Sam sighed, though he immediately went to help you. He shot Eileen an imploring look over your head.

She got the hint and helped you on her side. Together they helped you stand while you removed the mask, then the heart monitor and other wires taped to your torso.

The Emergency Department team had left your pants on, thank goodness, but they’d clipped through your blouse and bra. So the paper gown was mostly to cover your top half like a light blue poncho. It was a bit airy in the back, but Eileen held it closed for you. Right now, you didn’t care much about your modesty. You were also walking around the hospital barefooted.

At least Dean was on the same floor. It was just a long walk down the hall.

“Can you call Benny and ask how Andréa’s doing?” you asked, coughing a bit.

Sam eyed you in thinly veiled concern, but he agreed. The last he’d heard from Benny was that Andréa had been cleared by the paramedics with minor smoke inhalation. You were clearly worse.

Sam held you upright when you finally saw Dean. He had to guide you into a chair beside Dean’s bed, where he slept on his side. On his back was a large stretch of white gauze across his upper back, from nearly shoulder to side at an angle.

“The doctor said they’re only second-degree burns. It looks worse than it is,” Sam said quietly.

Eileen rubbed your back in the hopes that you’d stop crying.

You could only focus on the gauze, the smaller nicks and burns around Dean’s face, the bandage and thick gauze near his temple where they’d apparently had to drill into his skull. He also wore an oxygen mask, because if all that wasn’t enough, you were sure “smoke inhalation” was on the list, thanks to the way he’d given you his SCBA mask.

Gently, very gently, you took his hand. Your thumb swept over the back of it, over each knuckle.

“Did they say when he’d wake up?” you asked. You rubbed at your aching stomach. Does smoke inhalation cause nausea too?

Your chest was also tight. You’d head back to your room sooner or later and get the oxygen mask back on.

Before Sam could reply, you heard a groan below. You looked down at Dean with wide-eyed hope. It took a moment, but his eyes slid open. They were unfocused and dark, until they found your face.

You smiled tearfully. “Hey, baby.”

Your free hand caressed his cheek. His eyes briefly closed at your touch. When he realized you were holding his hand, he squeezed a bit. That was enough for you.

Just then, however, you had to let go of his hand. Whatever was left in your stomach from this morning seemed to be revolting. You turned your head quick to throw up onto the hospital floor.

Both Sam and Eileen called your name when you slid out of your chair and onto the floor. You blinked tears out of your eyes…or actually, it was black spots encroaching on your vision.

Sam pushed the chair out of his way to get to you. He gathered you into his arms and shouted for a doctor while Eileen went for the emergency button on Dean’s hospital bed.

The last thing you saw was Dean’s worried face out of the corner of your eye, before the blackness took you.

Dean could barely speak behind his oxygen mask, but Sam saw his worry as the nurses carried you away in a stretcher with Eileen following close behind. Sam crouched in front of his brother and clasped his hand.

“She’ll be okay, I promise. I’m gonna look out for both of you,” Sam said. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. In that small gesture, Sam also saw his stubbornness. He almost smiled. You and Dean were a match made.

“Just rest, Dean. I’m going now to check on her, but not until you close your eyes,” Sam said. It took another stubborn minute, but Dean eventually relaxed as well as he was able. His eyes closed as he fell back under the pull of medication and painkillers.

“How’s he doing?” came the voice of their father in the doorway. Sam’s expression morphed from gentle to austere. His head turned towards his father.

“How does he look like he’s doing?” Sam asked. “He had a burning ceiling fall on him. He has the mother of all concussions, and he just saw his girlfriend collapse.”

John was quiet, in contrast to his youngest son’s ire. He stepped into the room and watched his eldest. Sam saw the man’s age in the lines around his eyes, in his slow gait when he raised a gentle hand to comb through Dean’s greasy hair, mindful of his injuries.

“This shouldn’t have fucking happened,” said John. His voice was tired and gruff. Sam knew what the weight of guilt looked like, but what he didn’t yet see was regret. If John hadn’t kept digging, digging, Azazel wouldn’t have taken it this far.

Okay, Sam didn’t yet have proof that Azazel burned down the Savage & Co. building…but he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“No,” Sam said. “It shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick shouted.

He was still dusted with soot and sporting some cracked ribs from the day’s activities. He’d stumbled into his father’s house, taken a bottle of bourbon from the man’s shelf and started drinking straight from the crystal glass.

Daniel eyed him coolly from the balcony, smoking a cigar. “Whatever do you mean, son?”

Nick was furious. He stomped over, not caring how expensive liquor was splashing on him.

“Why’d you burn the whole damn building?” he demanded to know. “I could’ve died!”

“Alistair got you out, didn’t he?” Daniel pointed towards his son with the hand that held his cigar. “See, unlike you, I think ahead.”

“I’m serious,” Nick hissed. “Our company is still important—”

“My company,” Daniel interjected, “is not that building. However, the building itself was a liability.”

Nick’s brows knit together in confusion and anger. “What the hell’re you talking about?”

Daniel took a long drag of his cigar, puffing in Nick’s face. The latter coughed. As if he hadn’t had enough smoke in his lungs today.

“Don’t you see?” Daniel asked, with a sigh that also said he wondered how he could’ve produced such a moron. “It puts distance between you and ‘Azazel’ if you’re also a victim of his threats. It destroys any physical evidence of me having been there, along with any files you would’ve eventually had to turn over to the police and the FBI.”

Nick let that idea sink into his brain. He realized that it did make sense…but he deflated as something else occurred to him.

“Uh…see, that would’ve worked, but, we have a problem,” Nick scratched his head. “Someone knows who you really are.”

By the time Nick finished explaining about you, and what you’d overheard, Daniel’s sharp gaze managed to strike fear into Nick’s heart.

Yet to his surprise, the other man’s temper didn’t blow. Daniel kept it all inside as he continued to smoke. Cigars tended to pacify him better than cigarettes.

His lips twitched at a humorless smile. “Well, that is a problem.”

“But she probably died in the fire, so we’re good,” Nick shrugged.

“No, I doubt she did,” Daniel sighed. “You’re not that lucky.”

He rolled his shoulders. Then he grabbed Nick’s arm and twisted, until his was crying out and pinned to the nearest wall. Daniel threatened to put out his cigar in the soft underbelly of the arm he held.

Nick looked up at his father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Like everything else, that girl is a problem I’m going to fix,” Daniel said. “Along with the whole Winchester brood.”

AN: 🫣 Don't hate me lol. It gets better for them, I promise. But we have a few more chapters left to go and a few more twists in store!

Next Time:

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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moog-rt · 3 months

Text

GO TO HELL [ch. 4]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Three

➨ Chapter Four

Next: Chapter Five

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

A/N: shout out to my very own "power bottom at rock bottom" (aka my roommate) for harnessing her inner Angel Dust and feeding into some of his dialogue.

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER FOUR

The car ride home was mostly silent and incredibly tense.

You also couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. When you looked around to sate your paranoia, you found nothing suspicious and whittled it down to the anxiety having your face plastered across every news channel in hell.

On your way out of her father’s manor, you decided to fill Charlie in about your hands and cheek. She said it was a gamble whether her dad would react well to your being human or not. Being neutral to it, however, was something she would not have imagined. She was just relieved that you were alright.

She theorized that he may have assumed you were just wearing face paint for ‘shits and giggles’ (your words, not hers). There were some demons in Hell that did have skin tones similar to when they were human, so it wouldn’t be too outrageous for you to, as well.

Though it would be no surprise if he jumped to the conclusion that you were human due to your being televised all over Hell the day prior.

Not knowing where his head was at was going to kill you.

But worrying about that wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Charlie believed you two had searched everywhere in her old place that was likely to hold the key to you getting home. To your relief, the likelihood of returning was slim to none.

There was no need to stress over her father figuring you out since you wouldn’t have to risk running into him again.

The only thing you needed to focus on was getting those godforsaken cobwebs off the chandelier in the hotel foyer.

Vaggie was able to get the place mostly cleaned up in the time you were gone, but there were still a few things left that you were able to help with. After all they had done for you, this was the least you could do for them in return.

As you climbed back down the ladder, you saw Charlie pacing and muttering to herself. Even though you only met her recently, you knew how much the hotel and her plan to redeem sinners meant to her.

If this didn’t go well, she would absolutely take it to heart. She seemed like the type to barricade herself in a room to sulk for weeks on end. Or maybe bawl her eyes out whilst shoveling heaping spoonfuls of ice cream down her own throat.

Probably both.

“You know, this place is really coming together,” you said as you walked up to her.

She paused to face you.

“You think so?” she asked, glancing around the foyer in search of anything in need of tending. “Gosh, what if he doesn’t like the color scheme, or—or the motifs? What if he decides he isn’t interested in redemption at all?”

“Hey,” you said to get her attention as you leaned back into her view. “If he weren’t interested in what you’re offering, he wouldn’t be coming by to check things out. And I really don’t think your choice in décor will be what turns him away.”

You chuckled a bit as you glanced at the odd horse statues and slightly tattered wallpaper. It wasn’t modern or trendy, but it did have character. That was for sure.

She nodded with a far-off gaze, ruminating on your words.

“Even if he does decide that this isn’t for him—though I don’t think that will happen—there are so many people down here! I find it hard to believe that you won’t find some who are interested,” you continued. “Think about all the souls that believed they’d be going to Heaven but ended up here instead. They’d probably give up an arm and a leg to be redeemed.”

Her shoulders slacked, and her back loosened as she released a deep breath. Looking back at you, her face appeared more relaxed.

“Yeah…you’re totally right,” she said with a soft smile. “We just need to be patient.”

“I think this guy would be stupid not to accept your offer.” You bumped her arm playfully as you went to continue tidying up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her smile and walk off, presumably to do the same.

Everyone was putting the final touches on everything when there was a knock on the front door. You paused in the middle of sliding the sofa across the room so you could get a look at whoever was there.

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other in surprise.

“I told him to text or call before showing up,” Vaggie grumbled, running a hand through her bangs as she went to answer the door.

He was quite…tall.

You had forgotten their appearances could vary so much. Charlie, her father, and Vaggie were relatively similar to a regular person, despite some slight cosmetic differences. This guy, however, had an extra set of limbs and was covered head to toe in what looked like fur.

Upon closer inspection, he also had what appeared to be three additional pairs of eyes underneath his primary ones.

Was he supposed to be a bug?

You shuffled forward as Charlie introduced herself. She had fixed up your makeup once you returned, so there was nothing to worry about regarding your own appearance. You had double and even triple-checked beforehand.

“This is it?”

“Uh…yes?” Charlie said meekly with her hands clasped in front of her chest.

He gave the foyer a hard once-over.

“Eh, anything’s betta’ than my current digs,” he said with a shrug and started walking around. “You got drinks?”

“No? The point of redemption is to stop engaging in sin,” Vaggie stated, crossing her arms. “Which means cutting out drugs?”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he said as his body slumped. “What the hell am I supposed to do then? Play checkers?”

“Ooh, Checkers would be a fun way to break the ice!” Charlie sang, clapping her hands together.

This earned her a blank look from the new guest.

“Aha…” she laughed awkwardly at the bland response, then turned to gesture at you. “Well, this is our current resident! We have faith that she will be redeemed very soon.”

You gave a wide smile as you were being shown off. Should you strike a pose? Put your hands on your hips and puff your chest out in pride?

You didn’t mind being a fake example of a sinner-gone-good to help her out. It was the least you could do at this point. Plus, when you finally got the hell out of there, you could all play it off as you being ‘redeemed’.

“Yup, yup. Sin-free life has been pretty great,” you said, crossing your arms.

The guy already seemed exasperated. Vaggie was right when she said he was more interested in free rent than redemption itself.

“What did you say your name was again?” you asked in an attempt to keep the conversation from dying out before it had even started.

He perked a bit and plastered on a sultry smirk.

“Angel Dust,” he said as he swiped a hand through his hair(?) (head fluff?). “If you’re interested in gettin’ to know me betta’, I’ve got a nice collection of videos I can refer ya to.”

“No,” Vaggie groaned. “He’s a pornstar.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“I mean, more power to you,” you shrugged, and he snickered.

“Wasn’t expectin’ that sorta career choice to fly with someone aspirin’ to cross through them pearly gates.” He tilted his head as he eyed you carefully, leaning down slightly to be more at your eye level.

“What makes you think that?” you asked, raising your chin. “In my opinion, a redeemable gal like myself should be respectful of other’s bodily autonomy.”

“Last I checked, the pious types weren’t so down with cock-suckin’ hoes. I mean,” he paused and smirked, “some of ‘em were down with us cock-suckin’ hoes, but they did their darndest to pray that shit away afterward. The guilts part of the kink.”

Vaggie’s stance tensed more and more with each word that came out of his mouth. You were pretty sure her eye was twitching.

“Good people are accepting people!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her arms out.

“You ain’t ever have to deal with the living, sugar-tits,” Angel said, draping himself over the couch in a way you were sure would be put on the front cover of a Playboy magazine. “But sure.”

You all began a short tour of the hotel much like the one you got when you first arrived. This time, however, Charlie was really trying to sell her redemption plan to him. She explained the terms of their deal. He would refrain from acts of sin, such as violence, drugs, yada-yada, and he could stay there for free.

As you began filing out of one of the available, move-in-ready rooms, you noticed Angel pause. He was looking at the ground with a blank expression, clearly contemplating something. You assumed he was weighing the pros and cons of Charlie’s offer, but you were no mind reader.

After showing off most of the relevant parts of the hotel, you gathered back in the entryway. Charlie stared Angel down expectantly, waiting in suspense for his decision.

She was overjoyed when he finally agreed.

“There’s no harm in tryin’, I guess.” He shrugged shooting a half-lidded smirk. “But I ain’t makin’ no promises that I’ll be the paragon of redeemability. I ain’t that type of model.”

When he left, he said he had to clear some things with his boss first and then he would start this whole ‘redemption thing’.

The three of you had a miniature celebration—juice, soda, and popcorn to go along with eager chatter—before you decided to address the stack of books you had hauled back to the hotel.

The evening was going swimmingly thus far, and you hoped that good luck would carry on to the very end of the night. Somewhere in that pile was your key to getting home. Your fingers were crossed that you would be sleeping in your own cozy bed that night.

You could finally take up your own offer on a nice hot bubble bath and let it soak away all the stress that had stockpiled within your body.

Sitting in a circle around the books, you began sifting through them.

Your hope dwindled bit by bit with every one you flipped through and set aside. They had everything to do with the living world except for the means of getting there.

Once the last book was deemed useless, you sat in sullen silence. A sort of emptiness settled within your chest.

If that was your best shot at returning, what else was there?

“Okay…that’s okay!” Charlie said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We just have to try something else. Vaggie, you said you knew people who had access to Earth, right?”

“I said I knew of people,” she corrected. “But I did do a little bit of digging while you were out, and I might have a few leads?”

“Oh, perfect!” Charlie chirped, sitting straight up with her hands on her knees. “How about we look into those tomorrow then?”

You and Vaggie both nodded because what else were you supposed to do? You didn’t really have the option of giving up in this situation. Your life wasn’t going to wait on hold forever. It probably wasn’t waiting at all.

At this point, two full days would have passed since you ‘disappeared,’ but living alone makes it harder for people to notice that sort of thing. You doubted Devon would have reported it since that would likely result in them getting into even deeper shit (in addition to the can of whoop-ass you’d release onto them once you made it back).

And you knew better than to put any amount of faith into Jack. You were sure he noticed your absence. You had the texts to prove it. But he seemed to be convinced you were giving him the cold shoulder, which would most likely result in him pretending he didn’t give two flying fucks about you.

Fuck that bitch.

♡

You wouldn’t say you slept like a baby that night, but you sure did sleep. You slept with the weight of despair threatening to overtake you with each failed attempt of finding a way back home.

And you know what?

It wasn’t half bad. Would you recommend it to someone else? No, not really. But you couldn’t tell them it was terrible.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you padded your way down the grand staircase. It was nice not having to wake up early to get all done up, but you still felt groggy. Possibly from sleeping too much.

You also appreciated being able to spend more time in the pajamas you were given, because good lord were they comfy.

Charlie and Vaggie let you know last night that they’d be leaving earlier in the morning to talk to the folks Vaggie believed might be able to access the living world. You stayed behind because you all agreed that dragging you through public in a not-so-durable disguise was a disaster waiting to happen.

However, they planned to be back in time for Charlie’s father to visit.

He had called her the previous night—just before you were all about to go your separate ways—to let her know he wanted to stop by. She told him he could drop by in the afternoon, and that was that.

You planned to coup yourself up in your room for the duration of his visit. You would rather die than address what had happened with the paint. If he had any questions regarding that, he could direct them towards his daughter. Thank you and goodnight (love you, Charlie! Muah!).

There was nothing to do until Charlie and Vaggie returned, but you still wanted caffeine or anything that could clear your brain fog.

They had stocked up the fridge and ‘pantry’ a bit more since you arrived, and Angel would likely move in any day now so there was also that to consider. Yet it was still a gamble on whether or not you could find something appealing.

You kneeled down in front of the fridge and began rummaging through your options.

Mysterious leftovers?

No.

Artichoke Hearts?

Eh…for breakfast? Probably not.

Coconut Milk?

No… You were surprised they even had coconuts in Hell. Unless, of course, they had sinners that manifested as coconuts, then you reckon they could milk—

No, absolutely not.

You were thinking about settling on a popsicle when you heard a knock at the front door.

Nobody should have been stopping by yet. Charlie’s dad wouldn’t be there until later, and you guys weren’t expecting anyone else. It could possibly be Angel, but you doubted he already spoke to his boss considering it was still morning.

The stained-glass doors didn’t disclose much about your surprise visitor. They were merely a shadowy figure, distorted by the odd shapes and colors.

Regardless of who it could be, you needed to hide or at least find a way to get back upstairs without being seen.

Slowly rising to your feet, you locked onto a rather large crate near the edge of the entryway.

You wouldn’t have to cross in front of the door to get there, which was ideal. Even though you knew the person on the other side couldn’t see you clearly, you preferred they not know you were there at all. Once you were at the crate, you could easily make your way around the room undetected.

Just as you were about to slip around it, you heard the front door creak open.

“Hello~” sang a familiar voice.

You hastily dodged behind the crate, your feet sliding slightly underneath you due to the new socks you had been gifted by your hosts. Thankfully, you were able to stabilize yourself before falling into anything.

Your heart was pounding away in your chest.

What was he doing here so early?

You pressed your back against the crate as you carefully sat down to wait for him to pass. Listening to his footsteps crossing the room was doing nothing to soothe your nerves. It was clear that he was in no rush to move on through the hotel. You could hear him as he sauntered around the foyer, pausing every once in a while before continuing on.

If he was taking in the sights, it was only a matter of time before he got to your side of the foyer.

You had to get out.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly peeked around your hiding spot to see where he was and whether he was looking your way.

To your relief, Charlie’s father was investigating a portrait on the wall opposite of you.

You wasted no time creeping across the floor to take cover behind the tattered old reception area. There was a body-length mirror resting against the wall just a few feet away that would give you a relatively good view of where he was.

As you were about to lean close enough to see through the mirror’s reflection, you heard him begin to hum just a few feet away. You scrambled to get beneath the desk.

How did he get so close so fast?

You understood the guy wasn’t human, but still. You were able to hear his footsteps clear as day up until that point. He shouldn’t know you were there; you were being so quiet…

Holding your breath, you waited for him to put some distance between the two of you. When you felt he was far enough away, you slowly scooted to the other side of the desk where you could hopefully get a view of the mirror.

Hearing him tampering with something, so you took the opportunity to glance at the mirror’s reflection.

He was prodding at one of the broken columns, testing its stability, it seemed. And his back was facing you. Perfect.

Glancing around the edge of the reception desk, you could see that the stairs weren’t too far away. It was a pretty open area, however, so you wondered if it would be better to beeline it down the adjacent hall instead.

Figuring that was likely the safer option, you checked the mirror once more to make sure his back was still turned.

You met his gaze in the reflection, and your eyes went wide as his lips curled into a wicked grin.

Fuck.

In a panic, you threw yourself out of view and knocked your head into the desk’s edge. The collision was certainly loud enough for him to hear, but you kept your pained whine quiet as you cradled your temple.

Your train of thought was quickly growing fuzzy, unsure of what to do or where to go.

Was it best to run?

What if he was faster?

Would your chances be better if you found another place to hide?

Probably not… He already knew where you were, and you weren’t sure where else you could even go.

All you knew was that you couldn’t stay where you were. If his eyes were still trained on the mirror, you would probably be better off going back the way you came. Maybe there was a gap in the crate that you could worm through to hide. It would be like you disappeared.

You turned back in that direction, and as you were about to dart back to the safety of your original hiding spot, two legs stepped in front of you.

You gasped, sliding to a halt just before you could crash into him.

Charlie’s father slowly crouched down to your level as you tilted your head to look up at him, eyes as wide as saucers. His smile was wide, showing off his large, pointed teeth.

“What do we have here?”

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

Tag List: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150 @froggybich @darling-angel222 @preciousbabypeter

#lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #demon summoning #occult #charlie magne #charlie morningstar #Vaggie #Angel Dust #Hazbin Hotel Angel #Hazbin Hotel Angel Dust

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seaslugfanclub · 2 months

Note

Hi! How you doin? I saw that Clayton and Alameda fell under the "Crush/Romantic feelings" category in one of your previous posts and was wondering if I could request some separate imagines on them? Since there's not much mention of them in your other works (especially Clayton), just to get an idea of what they're like with (Y/N). Please and thank you!

Sure!! I’d love to write more about Clayton, he’s so underrated 😭 Enjoy!

—————————————

Clayton

He’s one of the more… aloof villains of the park. Unlike the others who parade around the park giving backhanded compliments and insulting the elderly, Clayton tends to stay more on the sidelines.

I mean… the only thing he really liked to do was hunt, and he can’t exactly skewer any living creatures at the “happiest place on earth”

Though what he wouldn’t give to make a new coat out of that sardonically scarred lion…

With our beloved park attendant (Y/N), they found a couple ways to get along with him.

(Y/N) asked him about his hunting expeditions and his time in Victorian England

As much as (Y/N) hates the idea of killing for the sake of killing, Clayton can tell one hell of a story. He becomes super animated, hands waving around and voice super loud. He even got Gaston’s attention.

Other villains walked in on both (Y/N) and Gaston sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor as Clayton relayed the tale of his expedition in Peru like it was story time

He LOVES showing off his skills and strength, and what can I say, (Y/N) loves a show

As for the romantic aspect of Clayton and (Y/N)’s relationship, I believe Clayton fell first

Clayton was a man from Victorian England, where it was risqué for a women to show her ankles

Now imagine Clayton seeing (Y/N) in small summer wear attire, it is Florida/California after all…

During one of Clayton’s tantrums, he ended up screaming in (Y/N)’s face. And what did they do? They slapped him across the face, shocking him to silence

No one has ever dared lay a finger on him, and as (Y/N) immediately apologized to him he could only think one thing; “that was hot”

Clayton isn’t used to someone being genuinely interested in his past, and the way that (Y/N) looks at him when he retails his adventures keeps the Englishman up at night

It’s weird, but (Y/N) loves how big Clayton’s hands are, like they take one of his hands and covers their entire face with it, much to Clayton’s embarrassment

(Y/N) is now Clayton’s official backpack, they cling to this man as he walks around the park. Clayton loves showing off his strength and (Y/N) loves being carried

—————————————

Alameda Slim

Cowboy time baby

Alameda is one of the most unknown villains, like no one cares

But (Y/N) does, (Y/N) always tries to get Alameda included with the Villains and park activities

Whenever there’s a big crowd, Alameda always gravitates to (Y/N)

The size difference between them omg

(Y/N) brings Alameda old country music records, he now has a whole milk crate filled with albums

Gives (Y/N) mini concerts, yodeling along to the records

They have movie nights together in the common area watching old westerns! Alameda always interrupts the movie pointing out all the inaccuracies

One time Alameda tried to show (Y/N) how to square dance, and accidentally made them go airborne when he tried to spin them around

(Y/N)’s super curious about Alamedas yodeling, does it only affect cows? They decided to experiment on a bunch of different animals around the park, much to the park goers dismay

Turned out the only other animal effected by yodeling is… pigeons

Alameda ended up running for his life, a horde of hypnotized pigeons chasing after him

(Y/N) ended up having to convince Alameda it was safe to go outside again, after he barricaded himself in his room

Alameda likes to plop his cowboy hat on (Y/N)s head when it gets to hot outside

#disney villains #self insert #disney imagine #disney x reader #alameda slim #home on the range #Clayton #Disney clayton #tarzan

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haknom · 5 months

Text

YOU’RE SO DRAMATIC — NISHIMURA RIKI

SYNOPSIS: you two made a great couple and were quite the dramatic bunch, especially you.

PAIRING: bf!niki x gn!reader (ft. allen from cravity and gunwook from zb1)

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of guns and shooting, mentions of blood, mentions of death/dying, not proofread, established relationship, and kissing.

WORDCOUNT: 843 words

NOTE: don’t diss my actions PLEASSEEE

THE FIELD WAS CLEAR OF PEOPLE. YOU WERE THE ONLY OPPONENT THERE.

You cautiously approached the nearby boulder, your equipment causing quite a ruckus. You held onto it, hoping it would silence the noise, and luckily, it did.

The gun you held was close to your chest. You couldn’t make any sudden movements or you would die.

This was serious, at least for you.

“Are you okay in area A?” The voice in your earpiece asked, startling you.

You pressed down on the item, getting rid of the static noise and replied with a, “Yes. It’s clear.” while informing your teammate, Niki, of the situation.

“Great, I’ll be there soon.” His voice became a whisper, causing you to hear him less. Why did he go quiet? What was happening on his end?

Worry began to fill your system as you adventured out further into area A. You had to find him stat.

“Niki, are you okay? Where are you?” You asked, slightly concerned. Although your mind was filled with many thoughts, you still focused on your surroundings, looking in every direction for your next target.

“I’m fine—” His words were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot, startling both of you. All you heard through his end was a shushing noise that was directed at you. He knew how much you would worry and he couldn’t have you babbling in his ear.

Not right now at least.

You tried your best to stay quiet, running through the field to find your teammate. You couldn’t lose him. That would hurt too much.

You broke the barricade on the door with the back of your gun, rushing through the maze.

“Shit,” you muttered. This was quite complicated. You kept arriving at dead ends, frustration making its way to you.

Footsteps became louder as you ran through the maze, indicating that you were close to Niki and whoever he was with.

You pressed down on your earpiece as another shot rang through your ears. Your hands began to shake, he couldn’t die. There was no way in hell you would let him.

“I’m here,” you whispered, crouching as you walked to the middle of the maze, approaching the opponent from behind.

You held up your gun, looking through the scope while aiming for the opponent's head. As you shot his head, he did the same, shooting Niki right in the arm.

The boy stumbled on his feet, slouching over while revealing Niki’s stunned face in the process. Your eyes widened.

This couldn’t be happening right now.

You lowered your gun with slightly shaky hands as your eyes slowly turned to the red spot on his arm. Redness trickled down his arm, making its way to the palm of his hands.

It dripped from the tips of his fingers, almost looking like a blood fountain.

Out of instinct, you dropped your gun and ran towards Niki immediately, passing by your groaning opponent.

“Are you okay?” You asked while holding his arm. When there was no answer, you looked at him worried. He smiled at you, placing his hand on top of yours.

“You’re shaking,” he said in an attempt to calm you down.

“I’m fine.” He reassured you as your eyes searched his.

“Gosh, you guys are so dramatic! It’s paint, Y/N, paint.” A voice said. Suddenly, the scenery of a maze built with green hedges was then turned into a maze with black walls. They had a wall trim of red that lit up, it was cool.

“Your imagination is something else. How do you imagine that we’re out on a battlefield?” They asked as you both turned to look at them.

“I’m definitely going to get a headache after this one.” Your friend, Allen, said while rubbing the back of his head.

“Why do you have such a good aim in paintball?” He complained while bringing his hand down to see the green paint all over it. It will be difficult to wash his hair tonight.

“Anyways, you guys win. Gunwook got out a while ago.” He sighed while placing his gun on the ground. You smiled in satisfaction.

“I think I was too invested in this match. Was I really shaking?” You asked, embarrassed. Niki replied with something you didn’t want to see, a nod.

“Yeah, you’re so dramatic.” He teased while laughing as you hit him in his chest.

“Ouch, I have a wound remember. I’m an injured person.” He said, signalling at the wet paint on his arm. You stuck out your tongue, putting it back in your mouth a second later.

Niki took this opportunity to lean down and lay a peck to your lips, leaving you stunned.

“Don’t do that.” You muttered, but he just smiled.

“No promises.” He replied, smile growing even more as he placed a kiss to your cheek, then forehead, and finally your lips again.

“Gross, man. Do it somewhere else.” Allen exclaimed with pure disgust on his face and walked away.

1 point for Niki and Y/N and 0 points for Allen and Gunwook.

Ξ © HAKNOM, 2023.

PERM TAGLIST — @soov @ox1-lovesick @urszn @hanniluvi @dakkisz @dimplewonie @ddeonudepressions @xiaoderrrr @ja4hyvn @mmaplepastries @essmarye @w3bqrl @jennaissantes @yenqa @yeokii @yyunari @wvnkoi @isoobie @strwberrydinosaur @gibbysupremeacyisreal @rikizm @teddywonss @simp4jongseong @whoschr @yourwon @yizhoutv @yuviqik @itsactuallylina @hermitanatta @i-yeseo @y6qiso

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vodkabodies · 8 months

Text

Invisible String

Summary: An endless search for a remedy comes to a halt when Harry realizes he’s been tied to it, to her, all along.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Musician gf

WC: 475

Warnings: If you're NOT a fan of romanticrry, this is not the post for you ;)

A/N: Can you tell I’m a sucker for fluff? Here’s a little ‘thank you’ for the love you’ve given over my previous post <3 This is a really short one but still, enjoy!

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You were there all along, hidden in plain sight. At award shows, at after parties, even at our mutual friend’s wedding ceremony. Sometimes I wonder, what took us so long, then? For years you were always just a friend of a friend, an artist under the same record label, and now you have your own mugs in my kitchen cabinet and a side on my bed that will always smell of you.

Whenever I get lost in my thoughts like this though, as if by instinct, a connection only you and I are tied to, a brush of your fingers through the curly strands of my hair always wipes the questions away. As I lay here, sulking in your gentle yawning and the scent of your shampoo, there wouldn't have been a more perfect time than now. Not seven years ago when you were getting out of a toxic relationship, and I from a boy group I’ve been in for years to pursue my own endeavours.

We were meant to cross paths, eventually. At the perfect place, and at the perfect time.

I was scheduled for a meeting the very night of your opening show. I ran into my good friend, your manager at the time, who was on his way to support you. At that very moment, I received a call that our meeting was postponed. He invited me to join him instead, and so I did. With no intentions of coincidentally meeting my twin flame that same evening.

Ever since then, it’s been you.

As if tied to an invisible string, distance from you started feeling like hell. Like being pulled by rip currents, away from the safety of the shore.

I started to fear that every song I'll ever write from that day onward would be about you. And how you snorted a laugh when my voice pathetically cracked the moment I introduced myself to you, your hands that fit perfectly in mine as you shook it, and that voice, the one that grew a bed of flowers over the barricades that disabled me from running directly to you, the same one that now hums me lullabies.

You are the cure to my sleepless nights, the remedy for my mundane days, and extra lonely drives. I, a hopeless romantic, an artist, the product of loving and losing, has fallen deeply in love with you in a way that only words can explain, and only lyrics can describe.

I’ve written about finding no antidotes for curses, been convinced that loving someone else in the past was the cure, and thought another person had it all along. But it was you. Not a pill I could swallow, an action I could do, or something someone could possess. All along I was tied to the one I’ve spent lifetimes searching for.

“You are the antidote.”

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A/N: Hope you guys caught all the references I snuck in here. If you did, feel free to comment them below! I appreciate the support and feedback for my first work <3 More to come! (possibly a new fic??) As always, thank you for reading!

Twitter: @vodkabodies

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cultofdixon · 1 year

Text

Just You

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • He knew the prison would be temporary. He shouldn’t have put bad vibes out into the universe then he wouldn’t have almost lost you. But he was thankful he had you with him…even if there was a whole new threat • ANGST/SFW/NSFW - unprotected sex [no glove, no love] / grinding / cum eating • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Anxiety / Scars

Requested by: @kaylakern4

Where is she

Where the fuck is she?!

Daryl snapped out of his anxious thoughts feeling the familiar soft hands grab onto his bicep. He turned to find Y/N staring up at him as his attention focused on her forehead bleeding and how she looks like she’s been through hell. But then he remembered—-

“We gotta get out of here”

“Haven’t you heard me?! I’ve been saying that for a few minutes! We gotta go!” Y/N pulled at his arm as the two ran out of the ruins of the prison.

Please look at me.

Bring it up. Please—

“I think my head is still bleeding…but I…there was no time to grab shit and book it. I just grabbed what I needed most” Y/N frowns on the other side of their little campsite as Daryl took that as the opportunity to get up from his spot pulling his rag out from his back pocket.

Daryl sat beside her dragging the pack they managed to scavenge taking the canteen out. He pours some of the water on his rag before giving her a look asking for permission, waiting for her to eventually nod not knowing exactly what he was doing. Then he lightly dabs her head lac cleaning the blood off her face. Her beautiful face. Checking to see if it had gotten worse with all the running they’ve been doing but thankful it was just a cut. A scary cut that bled that much.

“Thank you Daryl…”

“‘Course” Daryl put everything away and before he could get up from his spot, Y/N tiredly rests her head on his shoulder.

“Why does this keep happening to us…”

“Makes yea wish there was somethin’ more permanent I guess”

Y/N brought herself close to take in his warmth that he was more than happy to provide even if he was terrified to wrap his arm around her.

What’s wrong

Y/N.

“D, you see that?” Y/N gestures to what looks to be an abandoned country club. Daryl followed her lead to the place as he wanted to be first to enter in case of anything but Y/N took out her knife and went ahead.

Daryl followed close while wishing she’d look at him and tell him what’s on her mind. Since leaving the prison, the light she carried faded and it was eating him alive.

“Think anything here is worth the trouble?”

“The first aid kit on the wall is.” Daryl pushes past Y/N as she looked through the clothes that were scattered everywhere in the room they were in. “We can patch up your head”

“Sounds good…” Y/N picked up a green sweater more so green earthy and not neon. She took the opportunity of Daryl’s back facing her so that she could change her shirt into the sweater.

The archer turned toward her at the wrong moment and quickly swung back feeling the heat rise to his face after catching a glimpse. Y/N adjusts the sweater brushing off a bit of the dust that collected on it before noticing his tense figure.

“You can look now” She says almost in a whisper as Daryl kept his gaze to the floor up until he was within arms length of her. Y/N took out of the presented first aid box what she’ll need before letting him put it away. “Think we can squat in here for the night?”

“Yeah just. Let me help yea and then we can barricade the door just in case”

After taking care of such, Y/N got a fire going in the middle of the main dining hall. As she tosses more newspaper onto the fire to build, she felt a blanket rest on her shoulders. Y/N didn’t say a word right off the bat knowing Daryl did such as he makes his way to sit on the opposite side of her. Which sparked something in her to say—

“We can share”

Daryl quickly looks up from fiddling with his knife when she said that as the silence made Y/N’s confidence lower thinking she crossed something. But the archer picked himself up and sat beside her feeling half the blanket drape over his shoulder making both scoot closer to the other.

Wrong time

Not the right place

But when will it ever be

“Daryl…”

“Hm?”

“I’m scared” Y/N frowns feeling Daryl’s arm wrap around her to bring her in his embrace. He held her, let her get comfortable in his space…resting her head in his shoulder and bringing her legs over his lap.

“Me too, sunshine…me too”

When morning broke, Daryl always woke first and knew he was holding Y/N as they are both awake most the night. But he didn’t expect her to be asleep on his chest the next morning. He didn’t move or say a word…he was enjoying this moment. Until they were both spooked by the sound of a walker hitting the barricaded door. Y/N lifts herself up and off of him but still had a hold on his vest when Daryl sat up.

“They can’t get it. We’ll be okay”

“I know…” Y/N realizes she was holding onto his clothing and let go before standing up. “Think we should move?”

“Just take it out, hold up here a few more days…” Daryl suggests watching her nod in response as she leaves to take care of said walker causing a ruckus.

The two explored more of the club finding pretty much nothing of use besides some cans of food…mainly fruit cocktail…empty liquor bottles, a lot of money that Daryl started to collected but both came to the conclusion that it’s worthless in the apocalypse, and finding empty rooms or full ones with the deceased.

Another night came in and Y/N took the lantern she found in the outdoor shed they checked to one of the empty rooms with a few couches. She set it on the window turning it on to illuminate part of the room as Daryl rests the blanket they shared on the couch he assumed she would take.

“You’re the one with no sleeves…you need it more than me”

“Nah, I’ll be fine” He sighs upon impact of sitting on the dirty couch across from Y/N’s. “Could be worse”

“True…it could” Y/N shut the door and pushed an end table in front of it just in case. Daryl should’ve done that so she could’ve adjusted before him.

Talk to her

About anything

Try to at least

“D”

Daryl snapped out of his thoughts to find Y/N sitting with him on his couch. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll find any of the others?”

Be optimistic or be honest

Which will she feel better hearing

“Daryl…be honest with me”

Shit. Daryl shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll head out tomorrow…maybe follow the tracks to find’em”

“You think we’ve lost some of them?”

“Honest?”

“Please”

“Probably…” He frowns, relaxing once more when Y/N brought her head to rest on his shoulder. “But hopefully we didn’t…just. Feel bad for losing who we did before we separated”

“Hershel…”

“Mhm…” Daryl continued to carry that frown, even when the beating of his heart grew faster the second Y/N brought herself close resting her hands on his face.

“You know it wasn’t your fault right? None of us could’ve seen that happening”

“Why do yea always know what to say…when I don’t know everythin’ on that beautiful mind of yours?” His confidence spoke through on that last bit but more his honesty. Daryl knows best what it’s like to keep everything inside and not share until he was at his breaking point. But it took her…spending time with her at the CDC…to the farm…and the prison…being able to trust someone he cares for so deeply, that he would hate for the one he loves to not trust him enough to speak up.

But it was more so the words were stuck in the back of her throat as Y/N suddenly felt the tears roll off her cheeks. Causing Daryl to feel a bit of regret when asking that question but he instinctively took her hands into his, squeezing them.

“Y/N…I-I didn’t—-“

“When the prison first got shot at…I was afraid I had lost you right then and there…but when I saw you looking around in the courtyard searching for something, I couldn’t have been happier to know you were alive. I just…couldn’t find the words earlier” Y/N sobs feeling him rub circles with his thumb on the top of her hands bringing her tearful eyes to look. “I can’t sit here without you knowing that—-“

“I know” Daryl interrupts, catching her confused expression that made his face heat up realizing what he was trying to say. “I know how yea feel…cuz I’m the same way…toward yea”

The archer thought his words stunned her but given the way she leaned toward him, he knew to close the space…pressing his lips softly against hers. The first kiss lasted a second, but he didn’t hesitate to go in for another that slowly turned into a more heated moment. Y/N snaked her arms around his neck bringing him close as he gripped onto her thighs.

They parted to catch a breath as Daryl continued to hold her thighs feeling her shift in his touch. He pulls away for a moment only for Y/N to anchor her hands on his broad shoulders bringing her into his lap. Feeling his hands return to her thighs bringing them to her ass pulling her more into him.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, Daryl”

“Take what you want from me, sunshine”

“I just want you” Y/N returned her lips to his feeling his hands bring themselves to the small of her back under her sweater to feel her soft skin. She pulls back once more watching Daryl lean forward to capture her lips once more before pulling her sweater off of her, locking eyes with her waiting for permission. “I’ve always wanted you…so please, have me too”

“Just you. I only ever wanted you” Daryl assures her, bringing his lips back onto hers moving their position to have her laying on the couch and him towering her with her legs wrapping around his torso to keep him there.

The archer couldn’t help himself when bucking his hips in her center to get a small gasp to escape her when they parted. He trailed his lips to her jawline, down her neck leaving a few hickeys that brought out more of her sweet music. Y/N couldn’t help herself but grind up against him to get some friction to fill the need as Daryl couldn’t help but pin her hips to the couch resulting in a whine to escape her lips.

“Daryl…please”

“Please what, sunshine?”

“Please fuck me” Y/N begs not wanting him to pull away but he did such to unbuckle his belt as she followed suit by pulling herself up to get her jeans and panties off that once Daryl got himself out of the confines of his pants, he grabbed the ends of her jeans pulling them off.

Daryl tosses her jeans onto the pile with his pants and her shirt. Next with his boxers and her panties. He pulled her back toward him by her legs hearing her squeak to the action before gluing her attention to the size of his cock when he positioned such to gather some of her slick.

“Fuck…all of this for me?”

“Only you. Always you” Y/N moans, bucking her hips every touch of her sensitive bud from his tip.

His woman…fuck, his woman watches as he positioned himself at her entrance glancing up for any signs of discomfort when he started to push himself in. Fucking tight Daryl grunts leaning forward over her bottoming out in her staying still until she adjusted as she brought her arms around his torso.

“Please move…fuck me, D. Mark me as yours”

“Mmm. You know I will” He growls started to buck his hips thrusting nice and slow at first.

Y/N held onto him feeling him hit that sweet spot instantly making it impossible to keep quiet. She gripped onto the back of his vest when he started to pick up he pace while also bringing his dominant hand to rub circles on her clit. He felt the way she clenched around him that she was getting closer and didn’t tell her not to or anything like that. He wanted to feel all of her for their first time.

“Fuck. Daryl I—“

“Let go sunshine, I’ve gotcha” He grunts hiding his face in the crook of her neck feeling the tugging of his shirt given her reaching climax along with the moan to rip out of her.

Daryl was careful when reaching his own feeling her legs wrap around his torso for him to hit that sweet spot with his thrusts. The second he felt he was close to release, he pulled out and came on her stomach. He hovered above her panting with her as she releases her death grip on his vest bringing her fingers to her stomach taking some of his cum and bringing it to her mouth. She locked eyes with him while tasting his release resulting in a satisfied hum from her and a groan from him.

“You tryin’ to rile me up?”

“Mhm…”

After cleaning up and getting re-dressed, Daryl got up for a second to grab the blanket from the opposite couch bringing it over to theirs. Y/N, the second the archer sat down, brought herself to lay on him making him move her for a second to bring his legs onto the couch. She pulled herself up more so that she could rest her head in his chest feeling the blanket drape over her and Daryl wrap his arms around her.

“You should get some sleep”

“It’s barricaded. You can sleep too D” Y/N looks up at him smiling when he kissed her forehead.

“Fine, sunshine. Then we can look for the others in the morning”

That was the plan and they started by following the tracks in hope for any sign. Daryl was already protective of Y/N and vise versa…now it was a bit more intense when they know how the other felt.

Daryl suddenly brought Y/N close when he heard something. That something being footsteps that only grew from one pair to six as this unknown group made themselves known and surrounded the two. Causing the archer to ready his crossbow and his partner to reach for her gun.

“Now now. You two look lost”

Silence

“Hm. Well…we ain’t here to make trouble of any kind” the one that was obviously their leader didn’t take long to make himself known. “Just wondering somethin’”

“We ain’t gonna make trouble. Just leave us be” Daryl states covering Y/N as she suddenly jerks forward when a hand smacked her behind.

“Damn got a nice piece of meat with yea. Mind if I—-“ Suddenly the man that spoke met the other end of Daryl’s bolt as he didn’t hesitate to take him out for touching Y/N. That didn’t sit well with the group as the others suddenly raised their weapons pointing to the archer.

But the leader told the group to lower their weapons and back away as he draws closer.

“Gentlemen…we know what’s ours and what isn’t. Len here clearly couldn’t tell by the marks she’s got that she’s been claimed. Don’t poke the bear alright?” He laughs shortly after saying such. “Names Joe…and we’re looking for somebody and given by the looks yall carried before we jumped yea, that you were also looking for some people”

“What do you want” Y/N frowns feeling Daryl suddenly take her hand squeezing in but also directing her out of the stranger’s line of sight.

“You help us find our guy, we help yea find yours. We’ll protect each other as long as you follow our rules”

“Which are what?”

“Whenever somebody sees something they like and yells “claimed” it’s theirs. Be lucky we didn’t let Len take your woman by those standard form of rules…now do we gotta deal or what”

They didn’t want to at first. But it would be a bit easier finding the others in larger groups. More people to cover bigger areas.

But being the only woman full of men brought on a lot of staring, even if your heart already belongs to someone and in their terms you already belong to someone.

“I don’t have a good feel about this D…” Y/N whispers bringing herself as close as possible to Daryl as he noticed the two Harley and Billy were looking at her until he locked eyes with them.

“I don’t either…but I’ll keep yea safe, and the second there’s a window. We’re booking it” Daryl whispers to Y/N resting his forehead against hers.

But that window was finding Rick, Michonne, and Carl on the road…and little did they know that Rick was the one that killed one of their own.

“Joe. Don’t do this. These are good people” Daryl made himself present to the situation as Y/N was trying to figure out a plan that didn’t hurt anybody. But that was never going to happen.

“See…now that’s where you’re a liar” and that triggered another Claimer to suddenly grab Daryl forcing him against the car and starting to beat up on him.

Rick was about to say something when suddenly Y/N came out from the tree line about to grab onto the claimer when another, Harley, grabbed her and forced her to the ground pinning her. That action on top of another claimer Dan, pulling Carl out of the car preparing to do the worse. Triggered Rick to do the unthinkable by killing Joe by ripping out his jugular with his teeth stunning the remaining claimers to give the window they needed. Michonne killed Tony without a second thought and made a beeline for Carl shoving Dan off of him. While Daryl got a hold of the claimer’s neck and snapping it before taking his machete and striking the one lunging for him. Then suddenly stabbing right through the head of the one that was strangling Y/N.

As Y/N shoves the body off of her coughing like crazy, Daryl dropped to his knees tossing the machete out of his hands to hold her face getting her to focus on him and focus on her breathing.

“I’ve gotcha. You’re okay. Just take a deep breath” He said repeatedly until she did as she tries to pull herself up to hold him but he got the idea and instantly brought her into his arms gripping onto her for dear life. “I’ve gotcha sunshine…we’re okay”

“We’re okay” She repeats through tears holding him and looking back to see Rick holding onto his son. Y/N sighs from relief that they didn’t lose any of their own.

The morning came a few hours later with Michonne resting in the car with Carl sleeping on her. Rick took a breather with Daryl sitting beside him and Y/N keeping a look out.

“We didn’t…we didn’t trust’em. And were gonna leave but thank god we didn’t.”

“You came at the right time. Granted. You didn’t need to get beaten in the process. Scared the fuck outta Y/N…didn’t know y’all were close like that”

Daryl looks over in a protective manner seeing Y/N is perfectly fine in that moment as he turns back to his brother.

“Takes time to find your person”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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meownotgood · 1 year

Text

bloodthirst. / hayakawa aki

When your mission goes horribly wrong, you and Aki are left injured and cornered. Thankfully, for a devil like you, healing your injuries is easy. All you need to do is drink a human's blood.

pairing: hayakawa aki x gn!reader

word count: 6.4k

tags: 18+, blood play, blood sucking, biting, dry humping, grinding, finger sucking, praise, reader is a devil hybrid, aki is a bit mean, power imbalance (aki is the reader's superior), reader refers to aki as "sir"

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

God, he's stupid.

If only he was smarter, if only Aki had used his brain for more than two seconds and maybe considered the fact that the devils would ambush you both like this, then maybe this wouldn't have been happening right now. If only he was stronger, strong enough to hold his own against the devil horde, instead of needing to rely on some insolent, disgusting devil to protect him and drag him to safety. Stupid.

Aki's hand returns to clutch his side the second he's finished barricading the door. There's a pounding in his head, and a dull sting coming from right under his ribcage, where one of the devils lashed him. He can feel blood, warm and wet as it soaks through the fabric of his shirt, pooling over his palm, staining his skin crimson.

Shit, shit, shit- You're hurt, what do we do? We're so fucking screwed-

Your voice barely registers over the ringing in his ears and the haze quickly overtaking his mind. Aki stumbles backwards, and when his back hits the wall of the small storage room, he slides down, collapsing on the ground. His side hurts like all hell, but there's also an ache coming from his ankle; he tripped while the two of you were running away, and with his luck, he probably sprained the damn thing.

I just, what the hell are we supposed to do?! Neither of us can fight like this, are we gonna die? We're gonna-

"Fucking- Shut up, will you?" Aki snaps, wincing the second the words finish leaving his mouth. Just trying to speak hurts. He presses his palm firmer against his side, grunting from the immediate sharp sting of pain. "We're not… We're not gonna die. Just calm down."

At least, Aki thinks you're not gonna die.

Damn devils, they're craftier than he thought they'd be. When he first got the call for this mission — Yeah, it's a bunch of little devils, not sure what they are, but they seem pretty weak — Aki assumed the two of you would be able to handle this by yourselves, no problem. But when you arrived at the scene, "a bunch of little devils" turned into a swarm of them, and "they seem pretty weak" turned out to be an outright lie. Perhaps he should have asked for more back-up.

Either way, you're not gonna die. Aki will find a way out of this, he always does. He has to, because with the way you're currently pacing about, gnawing nervously on your fingernails, muttering anxiously to yourself, it's pretty safe to assume you won't be of much help.

There must be some way, something he can — No, he can't move. Maybe you can, no, shit, that's not gonna work…

"Aki?"

Your voice rouses Aki from his thoughts. You've stopped pacing now, that's good. But you're still shifting from heel to heel, a nervous expression on your face, your hand pressed to a particularly nasty scrape on your cheek. "You have a plan, right?"

Aki leans back until his head hits the wall with a gentle thunk. He exhales an exasperated sigh, blowing air out through his mouth in an attempt to push his sweaty bangs out of his face.

No, he doesn't have a plan. In what world would he have a fucking plan for this?

"How well can you move? On a scale of one to ten." Aki asks through ragged breaths, his mouth hung open, his chest rising and falling with vigor. Sweat is beginning to form at his brow in little droplets, cascading down to drip from his jaw.

You answer, "Like, a six? Or a six and a half?" You're staring down at your feet like your untied shoelaces hold the key to get out of here, and you press your palm further into your cheek.

"I can move okay. But I don't have enough blood to transform… I can take your sword but I- I don't know how to use it."

Aki stares listlessly at your shadow projected on the ceiling, traveling back and forth as you begin to pace again.

There's no way he's moving, that's out of the question. If he stands up, he's just going to hurt his ankle, putting him out of commission even more than he already is. And he can't summon Kon here, either — She'd eat the devils, sure, but she'd also probably topple the whole building. Guaranteed extermination of the devils means nothing if the two of you are left buried under a pile of rubble.

Aki racks his brain as much as his headache will allow. If he can't do anything, then his only hope is to rely on you. Yeah, he really doesn't want to do that, but he's not sure he has a choice in the matter. And if you're going to help him, if you're going to be of any use…

Right then, Aki remembers something he was told shortly after he became acquainted with you. He found it hard to believe at first, but he eventually came to terms with the fact that you're a devil, but not an ordinary sort of devil. No, his boss would be too kind to stick him with someone who's at all easy to understand. You're not just a devil, but a human as well, and this means that unlike normal devils, there's a way you can recover some of your strength. A way you can regenerate, in simple terms.

Aki leans forward, off of the wall, his back slumping. "Hey, devil."

You freeze in place, turning towards him and standing to attention the second you hear his stern voice. Aki's eyes meet yours for what must be the first time in hours; his eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but his gaze is as sharp as ever. He gives you a once over, his shoulders tensing, the bridge of his nose knotting up with slight irritation.

"Do you think if you can transform, you can get us the hell out of here?"

"I… I think so. Yessir," You stutter, nodding your head feverishly, although you don't sound too sure of yourself.

Aki's lips purse into a thin line for a moment, before he replies, "And you can heal by drinking someone's blood, right?"

Your eyes widen, your posture straightens. "I can. Yeah."

"Alright, okay." Aki leans back again. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, and with one hand still pressed deft to his side, blood beginning to drip down his knuckles, he uses the other to gesture towards you, crooking a shaky finger in his direction. "C'mere."

You hesitate for a second, but when Aki grumbles out, Hurry up, you're swiftly stumbling over to him on unsteady feet. You walk to stand by his side, kneeling down beside him. Your fingers twiddle in nervousness as you fold your hands in your lap, staring at him with anticipation.

Aki twists, huffing a frustrated breath when he scoots back to prop himself up more. His free hand comes to grasp your chin, his fingers trembling slightly, his touch smearing his blood over your skin. He yanks you forward rather roughly, his thumb ghosting over your lips, his eyes locked onto yours.

You can hear the sound of his breathing: heavy, shaky, like it takes a lot of effort just to expel the air from his tired lungs. You're so lost in the way he's staring at you, the determined look in his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering, sweat dripping from his forehead, his lips quivering ever-so slightly — You almost miss it when he quietly commands through half-gritted teeth, "Hold still. And open your mouth."

The harsh tone of his voice makes you obey before you're even thinking about it. You press your hands firmly to your knees to steady yourself, your lips parting open — Aki squeezes your cheeks, his eyes narrow, and he shoots you a look so sharp you're sure it could cut right through you. He scolds you between ragged breaths: "No… No. Wider. Don't make me say it again."

Your mouth opens wider, wider, but you hardly have time to complain about the way your jaw begins to ache. Aki brings two of his blood-soaked fingers, middle and index to your lips, wasting no time shoving them in.

His movements are clumsy, forced; Aki presses his fingertips to your tongue, and he shoves the digits so far down your throat you feel like gagging, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can taste his blood on your tongue, metallic and sharp, stale. Rich like his cigarettes, and so fucking delicious. Your senses feel heightened, your heart pounding faster, your face heating up.

Shit, you shouldn't be doing this, should you? You're not sure if this is appropriate, a devil drinking a devil hunter's blood, and your superior, fucking Hayakawa's blood, no less. You swear you heard somewhere that devils can get put down for something like this. But, do you really have a choice in the matter? Aki is the one who instructed you to do this, and even if he hadn't, how else were the two of you supposed to get out of this mess? Listening to whatever he tells you to do is the best call here, surely.

Either way, it doesn't matter. You don't have the time to debate about what you should or shouldn't be doing, and now that you've had a drop, now that you know how good Aki tastes, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself, not even if you tried.

Your knees are starting to shake — You're losing your balance, and it makes things ever the more clumsier. Aki tries to hold your face still, but you're wobbling and teetering, choking on his fingers, pulling back from him instinctively when he shoves them in too far.

"Tch," Aki scoffs, and you gasp when he suddenly drags his fingers out of your mouth. He eyes them with a look of disgust, his lips pursing, and he promptly wipes your saliva off on his pant leg. "Dammit, didn't I tell you to hold still? You're making this difficult."

"Sorry, sir."

Aki winces when he presses his hand to his side once more, soaking his fingers in more of his own blood. "Try again," He commands, holding your face tightly, tapping his finger against your cheek to coax your mouth to open for him.

"Don't move so much this time, and make sure you lick it all up. The more blood you get, the sooner we can get the hell out of here. Got it?"

With your mouth open wide, and with Aki already shoving his fingers back in, all you can do is nod.

He's a little gentler this time, a little more patient, carefully smearing blood from his fingertips over the flat length of your tongue. You're still shifting, although not as much as before; Aki notices when your hand slips from your knee to his leg, gripping him tightly to keep your footing.

Aki sighs. His free hand shifts to your waist, and he carefully pushes you closer — Come here. — until you're climbing over him, your legs on either side of him. And then, when your knees tremble and start to give out, you're plopping your weight on top of him, settling into his lap. Aki tries not to notice, but your weight pressed against him makes his breath hitch in his throat, and causes his heart to pound just a little bit faster.

He's unable to take his eyes off of you, both from the display, and from how close you are; your tongue swirls around the length of his fingers, and your eyelids grow heavy, gaze lust-filled as you eagerly taste his blood. When you've licked up everything, his digits soaked from your saliva, you bob your head. Your soft lips wrap around the base of his fingers, his digits practically down your throat.

Your gaze flickers upward, then, until you're staring at him with doe eyes, with a look that's a mix of desire and indecision. Aki swallows down the lump in his throat, and he watches as you give his fingers a gentle suck, as if you still need more, as if you're trying to suck the blood right out of his pores.

Feeling the pressure, Aki abruptly drags his fingers out of your mouth again. He eyes you up and down; you wait for him to tell you to get off of him, to scold you for what you're trying to do. Instead, he simply clears his throat awkwardly, before he asks, "So? Can you transform now?"

Your tongue darts out to lick the remaining smears of blood from your lips. "I don't think so. Sorry. It takes a lot more blood if I get it in this way."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll regenerate faster if the blood is fresh."

Aki's eyes widen. He shoves his bottom lip between his teeth, and he glances towards the door; still barricaded, for now. And although there's no sign of the devils, if he focuses hard enough, he can hear a faint scratching sound, the echo of the devil's claws as they scrape against the door.

Aki doubts they'll be able to get in for a while, considering the way he's blocked the entryway. But they know where the two of you are, they're clearly growing impatient, and he's losing blood, lots of blood. It's beginning to drip and pool below him, collecting in a deep crimson puddle on the concrete floor. Fuck, can he even afford to lose any more?

It doesn't matter, he can't think about it. He can't hesitate, he just can't. He's already a liability, anyways, and there's no time to lose. If Aki wants to have any hope of getting out of here, he needs to place his full trust in you.

Aki grips his side again, pressing his palm firm to his wound to try and lessen the bleeding. He reaches up with his free hand, grasping his tie, loosening it. He pops the first few buttons on his dress shirt. Then, Aki hooks a finger around his collar, tugging it down, tilting his head up, exposing the bare skin of his nape.

"C'mon, then." Aki's eyes flicker down, then back to your face, gesturing exactly what he means. "Bite me."

"Are… Are you sure I should-"

"Fuck, just do as I say." Aki orders, speaking through a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping.

You eye him up and down. Your throat feels dry, your mouth starting to water. Aki's chest rises and falls, rises and falls. You can see the way his blood covers his hand, the way it pools onto the ground, echoing a faint drip, drip sound when the droplets splatter onto the concrete.

When he sees you start to lean in, Aki allows his eyes to flutter shut, his head hazy. He focuses on his breathing: in, out. Nice and slow. Calm down, just relax. Just make sure you stay awake — Your breath is warm when it fans out over his skin, your lips are soft when they hesitantly press to the nape of his neck — You'll be out of this soon, it'll be fine, it'll be…

Aki inhales a sharp breath in through his teeth, feeling an instant, searing hot pain as soon as your incisors sink into his soft, tender flesh. You bite down hard, breaking a layer of skin; a small wound forms, and you suck on it harshly, drawing flesh blood.

His hand flies up to grip your shoulder, and his hips squirm a little under your weight. Beneath your lips, you can feel the way Aki's pulse thrums eagerly, and in your ears, you can hear the way his breath comes out quicker, shallower.

You're so damn close, shoved up against him on his lap. So close he can feel you — One of your hands is pressed deft to his chest, feeling the pound of his heartbeat, and the other gripping his jaw, tilting his head up to give you better access to his neck. So close, Aki can fucking smell you, so sweet and intoxicating, your scent mixed with the sharp, metallic smell of blood that lingers in the air.

And when your tongue presses to his skin, your breath warm, your mouth wet, the wound stinging when your tongue flicks, licking up more of his blood — Aki exhales a shuddery groan, and he drags his hand up to squeeze your neck, then up further to carefully hold the back of your head.

"S-Shit," Aki gasps, his grip tightening on your hair, "Is that… is that not enough? Are you sure you- Oh, fuck-"

Aki stutters into a moan when you shift on his lap, grinding your hips against where he's growing stiff beneath you, your teeth nipping at a new, tender spot on his nape. His cock is tenting his slacks, throbbing incessantly, already so fucking hard, and your mouth sucking bruises into his neck just makes him throb even harder.

His head feels woozy, his whole body overwhelmed by the intoxicating combination of pain and pleasure. Your hips grind against his cock, making his side throb, but his whole body tingle. Your mouth feels hot on his neck: soft lips and sharp teeth, so rough, but so gentle at the same time.

God, he's so fucking hard; was all of this just because of how close you are, just from your mouth on his neck? Aki feels dribbles of precum soak his boxers when you grind down on him once more — This time, with much more deliberation. Soft, little whimpers fall from his mouth, punctuated by shaky breaths.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" Aki's eyelids flutter, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head, and he whines when you roll your hips into his stiff cock, "You're- I c-can't, I-"

You freeze, suddenly. Aki catches his breath as you pull back, wiping the blood smeared on your lips with the back of your hand. When you meet his eyes, Aki is staring at you with a pathetic, desperate look in his gaze, his pupils blown wide. You watch as it shifts into annoyance, the bridge of his nose knotting up, his jaw clenching, his hands moving to firmly grip your hips.

Aki grinds you down onto him in tandem with his hips bucking upward. He grunts softly, his eyes shut, and little rocks of his hips grind his hard cock between your legs. When he speaks again, his voice is weak, but it still has an irritated, stern tinge to it, the kind of tone you only hear when he's scolding you: "Don't stop, don't fucking stop. That's an order."

Aki begins to rock his hips slightly, shaky moans and gasps falling from his lips. His mouth is parted, his face is flushed out: a shade almost as red as the blood that's beginning to soak through the fabric of his suit jacket, painting his white dress shirt in a shade of vivid crimson.

His hands trail up, up, feeling the curves of your sides, smearing blood from his palms over your shirt. He grips you tightly, guiding you to grind down on him to a deep, slow rhythm. "That's it," Aki praises; he can feel the delicious friction on his stiff cock, even through his slacks. He's so hard it aches. "God, just like that, juuuust like that."

Your hands move to grab his shoulders to steady yourself, and after a particularly strong grind down and thrust up, Aki suddenly gasps — One of his hands flies to grip his side, his eyes screw shut, and his breath comes out quickly, in between his shuddery winces in pain.

"Shit, Aki?" Your tone shifts into worry in an instant, your expression softening. "Are you okay?"

The both of you need to get out of here, and soon. Aki knows this; he knows he's losing blood, lots of it, and giving you more of what he already doesn't have definitely didn't help things. His head feels fuzzy and light, like he's high, like he's dizzy. When he tries to open his eyes, the whole room is spinning, and his vision is blurred at the edges.

Aki knows the two of you need to get out, he knows he should stop messing around. He knows this, so why is he not doing it? And he knows he shouldn't be thinking all of these disgusting thoughts, but he just can't stop his mind from wandering. Why does he want you so badly, why does he need you so badly? Why is he so, so stupid?

"Yeah, yeah, just- It's just, dammit-" Aki's eyebrows furrow, and he presses his palm even harder to his side. "Just keep going. I'm gonna be fine, okay?"

You eye him with a look of concern, but quietly nod your head in response. Carefully, you readjust your position, and then you give your hips an experimental roll against him; Aki sighs deeply, his eyes rolling up, his head slowly falling back to hit the wall behind him. His prominent Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, and a low groan falls from his mouth when you press yourself even harder onto his crotch.

There's no answer as to why, Aki realizes. At least, he can't come up with one. But he can't seem to come up with a reason to push you off of him, either.

The door is barricaded. He can't hear the devils outside of it anymore. He's still bleeding, but not as harshly as before. He'll be fine. You have time. You can make good use of it.

"Shit, shit, don't stop… A-Ah, fuck-" Aki whines, sounding a little too pathetic for his liking, but he can't help himself; the way you're rhythmically rubbing yourself up against him, the sounds of your quiet whimpers and gasps, and the fact that he can't do anything about it — It's making him go fucking crazy.

His hands shake when he grabs your hips again, guiding you to grind down on him deeper, harder, and his voice is stern when he commands, "Do it like this, fucking please."

God, if only he could take control right now, if only those goddamn devils hadn't torn him up like this. The throbbing pain in his side makes it so he can hardly move. He can't buck his hips up into you like he so desperately wants to, like he needs to. All he can do is beg, and rely on you to give him the friction he's craving.

Hell, if he was able to move right now, he wouldn't even bother with that — Aki would take you in whichever way he wants. If his ankle wasn't messed up, if he wasn't practically bleeding to death, he'd have you bent over for him, right in this storage room, while he shoves his aching cock deep into you. He'd fuck you exactly how he pleases, and he knows you, like the good little subordinate you are, would take it.

As much as you get on his nerves, and as much as you are a stupid devil, you're always so good to him. Always there at his beck and call, always listening intently to every order you're given. You'd listen to whatever the hell he says, because you're always so eager to please him, aren't you?

Yeah, you are. That's why you're grinding against him eagerly, to the rhythm he's set with his grip on your waist. That's why when Aki holds you tighter, his voice rough, bordering on a growl when he commands, Bite me, again, you're obeying immediately, your head dipping until your fangs connect with the bruised flesh of his nape.

Your eyes flutter shut as you suck at the wound on Aki's neck, his blood metallic on your tongue. Aki hisses, the pain sharp, but so fucking good. His hips shift, and you take the hint, grinding down on him so deeply it causes him to moan, his cock throbbing hard in his slacks, leaking wet precum onto his briefs.

When you pull away, Aki meets your eyes, staring at you with a look in his gaze you could only describe as insatiable. His chest heaves with each breath, and his jaw clenches from the pain, or perhaps the pleasure, or perhaps both.

Maybe it's because of the blood loss screwing with his head, or maybe it's because of how amazing you're making him feel, but Aki suddenly can't tear his gaze away from your lips. He finds himself gripping your chin between his fingers, tugging you closer, closer, and when your lips press to his own, he's truly lost any sense of control he was hoping to hold onto.

Aki kisses you deeply, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. You press closer, and he pulls you in, as close as he can get you. He nibbles on your bottom lip, his tongue swirls with yours, and fuck, he can taste his own blood, metallic and sharp — The feeling takes him even higher.

In the heat of the kiss, Aki tugs your dress shirt out from where it's tucked in your slacks, shoving his hands under, gliding his palms over your bare skin. His touch is cold, and his fingers are calloused, rough when they skim up your sides. Then, down, where his large hands grab your ass, groping and squeezing. You whimper into his mouth, and Aki groans in unison.

He tastes good, so good, so delicious you can't help but want more. Your body feels warm, your head feels floaty; you can't stop your hands from gliding up and down his chest, from hastily unbuttoning his suit jacket, from reaching up to tug it off his shoulders. You grip his tie, next, loosening it until it hangs limp around his collar, allowing you to start working at his dress shirt.

You stop when it's been unbuttoned halfway, exposing his flushed chest, his defined collarbones, the scars on his skin. You pull away to place urgent kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, his ear — Aki shivers, your lips soft on his skin, your teeth sharp when they nip at his chest, then his collarbones, nibbling at the sensitive bone.

As you kiss his lips again, one of your hands fists his collar, shoving him further against the wall, while the other glides through his hair; you yank at his hair tie, until the dark strands come loose from his topknot, falling to frame the sides of his face.

Aki isn't sure what overtakes you. Perhaps it was the thirst for blood that's ingrained into the minds of every devil, including yours. Or perhaps your desperation simply made you rougher, less aware of what you're doing with your own fangs. Either way, when you suddenly bite down on his tongue, Aki can't hold back a gasp in pain, nor can he stop his hands from gripping you so hard he's sure your skin will bruise.

And yet, he keeps kissing you, he doesn't stop, because he can't. He presses himself up further into you, his cock throbbing so hard you can feel it pulse between your legs, his stiff bulge shoved right up against you — Aki's tongue stings, but his dick feels so fucking good, waves of pleasure surging through his body from the way you desperately hump him.

You suck the blood from his tongue, lick it all off his teeth, your head getting higher at the taste. Energy surges through your body like a drug, lightning up every nerve, making you move faster, even needier. When you pull apart, connected by a bloodied line of saliva between your tongues, Aki is practically panting, gasping for air between each rough grind into him.

"G-God," Aki chokes out, his nails digging into your sides so hard you're sure it'll leave marks, just as your hands come to grip his broad shoulders. His face is warm, flushed pink, all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Does it feel good?" You ask with a shaky voice, as if you're desperate to hear his praise, to know how amazing you're making him feel.

Aki nods feverishly, "So good, s-so fucking good. Don't stop," His eyes meet your own, his pupils blown wide, his eyelids heavy. "I want you to make me cum."

If that's what he wants, then he's going to get it. If that's what your superior is ordering you to do, if that's what Hayakawa is asking of you, you're gonna make him cum, you're sure of it.

"Mhmm," Your eyes screw shut, your head dips, forehead pressed to his shoulder, "Yes, sir."

Your pace picks up, your thrusts into him getting harder, faster — Aki guides you by your hips roughly, until he's practically using you to get off, like you're his toy. You can feel the warmth from his stiff cock between your legs, how it throbs and twitches, the way it seems to swell even more when your fingers run through his long hair, gripping close to the scalp.

"Fuck, you're so good to me," Aki whines, and he grabs the back of your neck to tug you off his shoulder. You meet his sharp gaze, his eyes filled with lust and need. His words slur a little when he asks, "You want some more?"

Judging by the hungry way he looks at you, and the way he moves to press his hand to his side, you know exactly what he's talking about. You give him a particularly desperate roll of your hips, eliciting a groan from him, before you're babbling, "Yeah, yeah, yes please, yessir-"

"No," Aki scolds, cutting you off. He lifts his hand from his side; the blood smeared on his fingers is mostly dried and stale, so he brings them to his lips. He gathers saliva in his mouth, then spits a glob onto the digits, getting them nice and wet. His spit drips down his knuckles, stained red from the mix of the blood on his fingers, and the blood that still lingered in his mouth, on his tongue.

Aki looks up towards you, a frustrated sort of look on his face, his eyes narrowing. "Ask me again. Say my name."

"I- Sorry, yes, please, Hayakawa, sir." You stammer, hardly able to get out the words, your hips shifting a little in impatience.

"Tch, you're close," Aki scoffs. He presses his fingertips to your lips, his spit dripping down them, and his free hand snakes around to grip your cheeks, squeezing to hold you still. "First name."

"Please, please, Aki."

Your voice is so desperate, so needy — The way you say the syllables of his name makes it sound so fucking pretty, and Aki can't get enough of it.

He rewards you, shoving his soaked fingers in your mouth, allowing you to lick them clean. You taste his spit, his blood — Your tongue swipes over his knuckles, and you let out little gags as you choke on his fingers, struggling to take them with the way you're still grinding against his lap; the sound just turns Aki on even more than he already was.

Aki pushes you off of him just a little, adjusting your position on his thighs, before he grabs one of your hands, guiding it between his legs. Voice sultry and rough, dripping with lust, he leans forwards to whisper the dirtiest words into your ear.

Look, I'm so fucking hard here. You feel it throbbing?

You nod as Aki scissors his fingers in your mouth, using his other hand to guide you to squeeze his cock — He's so warm, so thick, so hard, and his breath hitches when you palm him, his eyes fluttering shut. Aki hastily pushes your hand away, grabbing your waist and pulling you back onto him, in tandem with shoving his fingers further down your throat.

He can't help but utter a string of commands, his voice deep and stern, because he knows you'll listen to them. He knows you'll give him exactly what he wants.

Shit, suck on them. And grind against me harder, get me close.

You're obliging the second you hear his voice in your ear: you suck hard on his fingers, sputtering around them, drool leaking out from the corner of your mouth. You grind on his length harder, rougher, each roll of your hips shoving you so close against his aching cock. Even through his slacks, the friction is perfect, and Aki feels heat begin to pool in the pit of his stomach.

His eyelashes flutter, his heart pounds in his chest. His grip starts to grow loose, and his breath comes out faster, faster, faster.

That's it, just like that. Such a good little devil. Say my name again.

His praise gets you higher, your mind foggy, your vision hazy. Mumbling around his fingers, you chant his name over and over again — Aki, Aki, Aki, each time seeming to push him closer and closer to the edge. Aki's head is just as dizzy, swirling from the lust, from the blood loss. It feels like he can hardly think, can hardly muster up coherent thoughts; all he can do is drown in the pleasure and the way his own name falls so beautifully from your lips.

I'm so close, you're gonna make me cum, just go a little harder for me.

He speaks through ragged pants and fragile gasps. Your movements become frantic, and his hips are unable to sit still as he feels his high build closer and closer; he ruts himself into you as much as he can, ever-so slightly, moaning from the added friction — S-So good, I'm gonna, gonna…

Aki cuts himself off with a moan, gripping you harder, his hands shaking, his thighs squirming. You keep up the pace, your hand gently holding his jaw, and you examine his expression: his bangs, messy and stuck to his forehead, his eyelids drooping from the pleasure, his lips parted, quivering. He meets your gaze, a sweet, gentle sort of look in his eyes, before he tosses his head back.

With a stuttered groan of your name, Aki falls apart. His eyes close, and he drags his fingers from your mouth to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to himself. His muscles begin to relax as he rides out his high, cumming in his slacks, getting his briefs sticky and wet and filthy.

Your movements halt, and you let him catch his breath. His breathing is still shaky, but it slowly starts to calm. Aki cracks his eyes open, sitting up; he attempts to look at you, but his vision is blurred, his head is swimming, and his body sways forwards, leaving you to have to catch him by his shoulders.

He looks so damn disheveled, sweat dripping from his forehead, his hair down and an utter mess. You lost his hair tie, so there's no way you're putting it back up any time soon. His suit jacket is falling off his arms, his shirt is unbuttoned, and his tie is hanging loose around his collar. He has a fucked-out sort of expression on his face, his eyes glazed over, his eyelids heavy and threatening to close.

"You… You okay?" Aki manages, his voice weak and hoarse. His palm comes to press against his side, and although it doesn't feel like he's bleeding much anymore, it fucking hurts. There's a hard, aching sort of throb coming from his wound, spreading across his body. He's not sure if his wound somehow got worse, or if he felt this way all along, he was just so wrapped up in things that he didn't notice it until now.

His ears are ringing, and his mind feels fuzzy, exhausted. Aki's gaze flickers down to the ground for a moment, and he can't see very clearly, but he can still tell how the floor beneath him is soaked red, how his blood has been pooling out onto the concrete.

"I'm fine, Aki, are you? You don't seem okay."

Your voice hardly registers. Yeah, he's stupid, definitely stupid. So, so stupid. He shouldn't have wasted so much time, shit, what was he even thinking? The two of you need to get out of here, the devils are, they must be…

As if on queue, there's a loud slam on the door, then a huge bang as the barricade of shelves Aki set up earlier finally falls over. Aki grabs your shoulder, dragging you close with urgency, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I'm gonna pass out," He says matter-of-factly, swallowing, "You're gonna get us out of here, right? I trust you."

He... trusts you?

"Of course," You nod, and begin pushing yourself up off of him. You reach down, offering him a hand. Aki takes it, and you drag him to his feet, slinging his arms around your shoulders, holding him up and keeping him steady. He leans on you, his head rested on your shoulder. His breath is warm when it tickles your neck, and strands of his soft hair brush over your cheek.

There's another slam at the door. The devils are going to break in any second now, but with how much of Aki's blood you drank, you feel ready for them. Waves of energy course through your veins, and your knuckles clench and unclench, itching for a fight. You'll protect him, you know you can. He's counting on you, after all.

"Aki?" You ask, grabbing his hand from where it's slung over you, giving it a gentle squeeze. His palms feel cold and clammy. "You still with me?"

"Barely," Aki's voice is so quiet you almost can't hear it over the clamoring of scratches at the door, the devils seeming to grow louder and louder, more and more restless. He grumbles, leaning his chest on your back, before continuing, "If you need more blood, just take it."

You roll your eyes. "I have enough, I took more than enough from you. You should rest, I'll hold onto you."

Another loud slam at the door. It sounds like it's about to break at the hinges, but Aki's deep breaths in your ear keep you from panicking, and the rush you still feel keeps you alert.

"I'll pay you back later for this."

You can't help but laugh at how serious he sounds, but before you can ask if he means paying you back for you protecting him, or for you making him feel good, or for some mixture of both, his weight on your back goes limp. His head rests on your shoulder as his consciousness slips.

Yeah, you'll see about that. For now, you've got to put his blood to good use.

thank you to my beloved @f1gments for helping me with this, I couldn't have done it without you :)

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 months

Note

104/150 with lethal company?

104) I can hear it calling my name

.........

[Y/n], January 29th, [Log 001]

---I'm afraid this will be my last log. So I'm keeping this encrypted.

Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. And I'm terrified. We started on this job as strangers, and we became family. Now I'm all alone because of a stupid mask. A piece of scrap we should've just sold off.

But he thought it would be funny to wear. I don't blame him. He was always a jokester, willing to do anything to turn a frown upside down and make light of our dreary trips. I know he didn't mean to hurt us. He thought it was harmless. Honest to god we thought so too.

Until he started vomiting blood and tried grabbing me. He tore off my helmet, along with my tracker, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how. But I wish I was smarter about it, because I got lost.

Then I heard the ship's engines.

They must've thought I was dead. Or maybe they all died and the autopilot kicked in. I'm not sure. I don't even know the current time. But what I do know is that I'm stuck here now. Possibly forever. I could make an SOS but that monster is still outside. I had to barricade myself in this storage room and wait until it goes away.

It keeps knocking. I can hear it calling my name. But I know it's not him.

To anyone who reads this, don't pick up the porcelain masks. They aren't worth shit. It'll tempt you to put it on. Don't. You'll find better loot elsewhere. If you see anyone already wearing it, kill them. Stun them. Run. Whatever. Just don't let it take you.

And if you see me wearing it, put me out of my misery. I promise I'll understand---

Finishing what would likely be your final log, you sighed and slumped back against the wall, letting the tablet slip from your hands.

You don't know how long you've been stuck here--whether it's been hours or days.

But all you know is that the Masked on the other side of the door hasn't left. It was using your coworker's corpse, mimicking his voice as it pounded on the steel and tried convincing you to let it in, even shattering the window. For some reason it refused to leave you alone, and kept begging and begging until it began screaming unintelligently...

That would go on and on until eventually it would cease, weakly clawing at the door, only to rinse and repeat once it rested its voice.

You were starving, trying your best to ration the jar of pickles you were luckily able to find in this storage room.

Unfortunately, that's as far as your luck will go at this point. They were sour and made you want to vomit every time you ate one. But while you didn't want starvation to take your life, you weren't exactly sure how you really wanted to go out instead.

It sure as hell wasn't gonna be from that bastard who took away your friends.

"It's clear....all clear......come on out....the ship is leaving..leave....out.....COME OUT..!! COME OUT!! COMEOUTCOMEOUT-!!"

With your heart hammering in your chest, you curled up and covered your ears, squeezing both eyes shut. 'Fuck, it's losing its mind again...this is a nightmare..why did I ever take this job?' You tried not to focus on the screams so much, and instead prayed for some kind of miracle.

But in space, would anyone really hear your prayers?

Yet somebody must have, because the screaming abruptly stopped a minute later, being replaced by the sounds of heavy thumping and growling drawing near.

You only knew one other alien creature that made those.

And you knew it was pissed off.

Getting up and backing away from the door, you fearfully clutched a stop sign as you heard a series of terrified shrieks, roars, slamming and crashing sounds....before silence followed, save for the low growls you heard earlier and chewing noises.

Cautiously, you went back over and pushed aside one of the things covering up the window, and the sight on the other side was quite nauseating:

The Thumper was hovering over the Masked's body, teeth covered in blood and flesh as it tore into it, clearly wanting to savor this midnight snack.. But eventually it decided to drag the rest of the corpse away and to another part of the facility, only leaving behind a few shattered fragments of white dirty porcelain.

You couldn't believe it.

You were actually happy that a Thumper, of all things, saved your skin.

But you sure as hell didn't want it coming back for a second lunch. Now was your window of opportunity to get out of here. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only reason you were able to grab your loot and book it out of that storage room, being careful not to run into that Thumper again.

At least now you could go outside and (hopefully) send an S.O.S.

#saw this an immediately thought of the masked/mimics #clanask #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #lethal company masked #lethal company thumper #angst/horror prompt

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smartycvnt · 11 months

Text

Against the Current

Title: Against the Current Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader Summary: Rhea runs to Y/n in the crowd after she wins the title at WrestleMania. R WC:964

Charlotte and Rhea's match was sure to keep Y/n on the edge of her seat. The last time they had faced each other at WrestleMania, Charlotte had destroyed Rhea's confidence by taking the one thing that meant anything to Rhea at the time. There was a bigger championship in WWE's eyes at stake, but Rhea had more than she did before. Y/n knew that even if Rhea lost, it would be hard on them, but they could make it through together. Rhea had Y/n this time, and while Y/n would argue Rhea had her last time, both of them knew it. Hell, Y/n was pretty sure that even Charlotte knew Y/n would be by Rhea's side no matter what the outcome of the match was.

Still, Y/n held her breath with every hit Charlotte landed on Rhea. Y/n couldn't remember a time whenever it had been so difficult to watch Rhea's matches before. Being in the stands at WrestleMania as a fan was huge for Y/n, who had never gotten to do it before, but she couldn't hide the fear on her face. If Rhea walked away as the champion, she could mistake Y/n's reactions for doubt. Even worse was if Rhea saw the footage of Y/n watching them and accused Y/n of never believing in her at all. Y/n knew that wasn't truth, and Rhea would to an extent, but Rhea would believe whatever justified her emotions at the end of the day.

Every pinfall and submission move had Y/n's heart practically beating out of her chest. She had faced Charlotte before and knew how much of a challenge the woman could be. Rhea had her youth and natural talent on her side, but Charlotte had a level of skill that could only come with the years she had worked. The pressure didn't get to Charlotte anymore, and as much as Rhea liked to pretend it didn't affect her, Y/n knew different. They had spent so many nights staying up together in the past year that they had been dating fretting over the big matches. Rhea's loss for the Tag Titles the year before had left a gash in her confidence, one that it had taken winning the Royal Rumble to get over.

"Come on Rhea," Y/n muttered as she watched Charlotte get Rhea into another pinfall. "Come on Rhea, kick out!"

Y/n knew it was unlikely, but she swore that Rhea had heard her. Rhea kicked out of Charlotte's pin when it seemed impossible. Both women had been taken to their limits by the other. Anyone could see that they were running on fumes, and still, Rhea kicked out. Y/n shot out of her seat and gripped the barricade tightly as she screamed at Rhea to keep going. She wasn't even sure what any of the words coming out of her mouth were anymore, just that she needed to give Rhea some kind of encouragement to keep going. The crowd was fully behind Rhea, despite how she had been pushing Dominick to act. Y/n was certain this could have been a crowd in Flair Country and they still would have cheered Rhea on instead.

Rhea stood up for one final move, and Y/n could tell that this was it. There was nothing left after this one. If Charlotte kicked out, Rhea was done for. Both women got up to their feet, but Charlotte was the one who stumbled forward first. Rhea reserved her energy to go for the kill shot, and Charlotte walked right into it. Y/n was so excited that she thought she blacked out for a moment. One second Rhea was getting Charlotte in her cross hairs and the next, the ring announcer was introducing a new champion. Rhea took the belt from the referee and let the camera have their shot before she turned to the crowd. Y/n could see the tears in Rhea's eyes all the way from her seat, where she had practically fallen after all the excitement.

“Come here, I need you!" Rhea shouted as she got out of the ring and ran to Y/n's seat. Y/n held her hands out and pulled Rhea in for a kiss just as the woman got close enough to do so. Rhea kissed Y/n back, not caring that it would be the first the world knew of their relationship. In that moment, Rhea wanted the world to know just how lucky she was. Not only had she defeated Charlotte Flair at WrestleMania in front of what was probably millions, but she also had the most patient and lovely partner that anybody could. "I did it."

"Yes you did," Y/n said as Rhea buried her face into the crook of Y/n's neck. "I know it was hard, but I always believed that you'd get here."

"I did it for us." Rhea kept her face pressed against Y/n's body until the cameras moved off of her. Y/n knew that Rhea would be crying at least a little bit, just like she knew how much Rhea hated it. "Will you come back with me?"

"Of course I will." Y/n let Rhea pick her up and lift her over the barricade. Rhea kept the title slung around her shoulder as she walked alongside Y/n up the ramp. Rhea had always envisioned them having a WrestleMania moment together, but she thought it would have been different. It had always been their plan to go at this together, but even though Y/n had been taken out of the equation, she had never faulted Rhea for continuing to chase what had been their dream.

#my writing #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #wwe #wwe x reader

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Note

I never know what to put for these made-up fanfic titles, but! how's "boy that's never been" sound? (or girl, which is the original line, or child, which has its own flavor)

oh boy that’s never been is perfect. Congratulations/commiserations, you’ve let me unleash probably the most tragic thing I’ve ever thought of.

warning: the first section of this will have a major character death. it’ll then be followed up by an alternative take where the character is initially believed to be dead but survives, so feel free to read both or one or neither. ❤️

It starts with laughter, with Dustin and Eddie jumping up and down, clinging to each other, riding the high of the most metal concert in the history of the world.

Eddie drapes the guitar pick around Dustin’s neck, like giving a medal to an Olympian. “Souvenir,” he says, grinning, and Dustin’s about to speak, to probably just reiterate just how fucking cool Eddie’s playing was, but then they hear the bats come through the vents, and the words fly out of his head.

They barricade the door, and Eddie is screaming at him to, “—go! Let’s go!”, and Dustin starts to hurry up the rope. He can hear the distant crackle of his walkie, Lucas’s voice shaking with relief, “It worked, it worked, he’s out of her head.”

Dustin looks back instinctively, because by all rights, Eddie should be right behind him.

But he isn’t. He’s just standing there, watching Dustin climb, and he’s got this look on his face, and Dustin suddenly thinks oh, don’t you fucking dare.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie says, just as Dustin’s about to ask the very same thing. “Go!”

“Not without you.”

Eddie shakes his head. And then his eyes widen; he looks up, somewhere beyond, and Dustin doesn’t know what it is that he’s seen, but his face goes white.

“Dustin, hurry!”

The world trembles; Dustin loses his grip on the rope, hears Eddie say, “Shit!” right before he falls, ankle giving way beneath him, and he lands flat on his back, aching and winded—

He opens his eyes. The Gate on the ceiling has knit itself shut.

“Oh, Christ, oh, Christ,” Eddie’s whispering, over and over, and he’s pulling Dustin up, “are you—”

Dustin whacks him on the shoulder. “What the fuck was that? You’re not getting left behind, asshole.”

And while he’s still so angry, Eddie must hear how his voice shakes with fear, teetering into anticipatory grief.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The swarm of bats are still scratching at the door; the wood’s splintering.

“We’ve gotta get out of…” Eddie trails off, eyes darting in thought. He glances down at Dustin’s foot. “Fuck, you can’t run.”

A chorus of demonic screeching, far too close.

“Okay, c’mon, I’ve got you,” Eddie says, and he’s bearing Dustin’s weight, half-carrying him outside. Dustin hears him curse as he slams his shield against the few bats that still remain, scaling the wired fence. He makes short work of them.

He leaves Dustin on the porch, runs for the bike.

As Dustin waits, he feels a new sharp pain in his ankle—looking down, he sees one of the bats that Eddie thought he’d killed, still weakly crawling on the ground, teeth sunk deep into his skin.

He kicks, stomps on it until it lets go. There’s a trail of blood seeping down from the skin around the fibula, and he’s a little light-headed, but he thinks that’s mostly because he’s looking at it, so he simply doesn’t anymore.

Eddie comes into view, pushing the bike with a frenzied energy. He’s muttering under his breath, “Where do we go, where do we go?”

Maybe it’s down to Eddie being so panicked—suddenly Dustin has no trouble at all focusing on a solution.

“I think it worked,” he says calmly. “They’ve killed him. That’s why…”

Eddie nods, face still so pale. “Are you saying we’re stuck down—god, there’s gotta be something we can—”

“Yeah, it’s sealing up,” Dustin says hurriedly, “but I—maybe not all at once. Maybe it’s in the order of the—”

“So. Chrissy,” Eddie says shakily, “then Fred, th-then Patrick.”

“We’ve gotta go to Lover’s Lake.”

Eddie breathes out, “God, you fucking genius.”

He sits forward on the seat of the bike, so Dustin’s got enough room to sit behind him. Dustin grips onto his jacket, presses the side of his face against his back.

“Hold on tight, Henderson,” Eddie yells, and then he’s off, pedalling for their lives.

Dustin can only pray that Nancy, Steve and Robin have come to the same conclusion—his heart leaps when he sees them running across the rocky bed, to the still open Gate.

They all dive through it as quickly as they can. The only pause comes when Dustin insists Eddie go in front of him, and Eddie looks ready to fight him on it; “No time,” Steve interjects, and he gives Eddie that same kind of nod he’d given before he left the trailer park. “I’ve got him.”

“Deep breath,” Steve instructs, voice deliberately even. “Good, that’s it.” He grabs onto Dustin’s hand. “I won’t let go.”

It’s a vow; Dustin knows it.

The two of them make up the rear. Swimming through the depths of the lake is hardly scary at all, not when Dustin can see Robin and Nancy break through the surface, Eddie right behind them.

Steve’s trying to make him go in front; he can tell from the way Steve’s urging him along—but his strong kicks mean he’s always slightly ahead, no matter how hard he tries.

Dustin’s still bleeding. He can feel it. He’s kind of glad that it’s dark, honestly; he doesn’t know what Steve would do if he could see it.

They emerge up above, gasping, and they’re almost at the boat, almost home, when Dustin feels the vine wrap around his ankle.

The first tug doesn’t pull him under. But Steve’s still holding his hand, so when it happens, he feels it, too.

His head turns in alarm, and his expression is scarily similar to Eddie’s as he watched Dustin climb up the rope; and Dustin knows that Steve will never let go, not even if it kills him.

So he does.

He wrenches out of Steve’s grip. He doesn’t have time to say I’m sorry, I love you, before he’s being dragged down, and just as he’s submerged, he hears Eddie scream his name.

He tries. But he keeps sinking no matter how hard he kicks, and then, even though it’s completely illogical, even though he knows it will kill him, he simply has to breathe in.

He swallows water. It burns.

And then the burning goes away, and it doesn’t hurt at all; he just feels so, so sleepy.

The faintest impression of arms around him. And even though it doesn’t make sense, it shouldn’t be possible, he still feels a final comforting warmth at the touch.

It’s Steve, Dustin thinks for the last time. He’s got me.

Steve emerges with Dustin in his arms. He barely registers the screams from the boat, just yells, “Someone grab him,” and lifts him onboard.

Robin gets Dustin by the legs, and Nancy gently lowers his head. As Steve climbs aboard too, he knows he cannot even look in Eddie’s direction for fear of the expression he’ll see on his face.

“Nance, count for me,” he says.

He starts chest compressions. She counts.

Two breaths.

Compressions.

Two breaths.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, “you’ve gotta breathe, you’ve gotta cough it all up, you hear me, Dustin? Come on.”

He keeps going. He keeps going even when Nancy finally stops counting.

“Come on,” he says. His voice breaks. “Come on, kid, come on.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

“Don’t,” he says, because there’s something in the shattered way she says it that snaps him out of it—that makes him see Dustin, so small and so still, and his hair is so wet, and he’d usually be so pissy about that, but he’s not, he’s not saying anything.

It’s Eddie who stops him. A shaking hand on his forearm.

“Steve,” Eddie says. He’s crying. “You can—you can stop now. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

“No,” Steve says flatly.

“He’s dead,” Eddie says. His fingers dig into Steve’s skin; he chokes on his words. On a sob. “God. He’s dead, sweetheart.”

A grief-stricken keen. Later, Steve realises that it comes from him: his mouth, his throat, his heart. He pulls Dustin close, in a desperate hug that can’t be returned, as if he could somehow shield him from a fate that’s already been given.

…

Or, in a world that’s perhaps a little bit kinder:

Steve is just a fraction quicker, keeps his grip on Dustin’s hand so they’re both yanked down, down…

Steve tries his hardest; he strains and pulls as they reach the Gate, and his last sight of Dustin is his wide, fearful eyes before he slips out of his grasp. He surges forward instantly, reaches for him, but then, like a sudden tidal wave, is pushed back, back—

The Gate’s closed. Gone.

Steve frantically searches the bed of the lake, cuts his hands on perfectly ordinary rocks until his lungs burn, and he has no choice but to kick for the surface.

Eddie’s in the water too; Steve almost hits his head on his dangling feet as he comes up for air.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie shouts. He treads water erratically, and for barely a second, he goes absolutely still. “Oh my god. Oh my god, where is he?”

“The Gate—” Steve says, and then can’t go on.

Eddie’s lips tremble, move soundlessly. “This can’t be—this isn’t happening,” he whispers. He dives under not a second later.

For a wild moment, Steve almost follows him, even though he still can’t catch his breath. Nancy pulls him onto the boat before he can try.

Eddie resurfaces, barely draws breath before speaking. “So, what’s the plan? How are we gonna—”

“Eddie,” Robin says, reaching for him. “Get out of the water.”

He acts like he can’t hear her.

“Am I not fucking speaking English or s-something? Tell me what we’re—”

“It’s over, Eddie,” Nancy says quietly. “Vecna’s dead. The Gates are closed. We… we won.”

Eddie’s shaking his head. “No, no, this isn’t—just tell me what to do! I’ll do anything, I’ll—”

“What am I gonna tell his mom?” Steve says helplessly.

He doesn’t mean to say it. But Eddie definitely hears it, because his mouth twists in grief; Robin’s finally able to pull him up onto the boat. He rests his forehead against her arm and shudders.

Nancy waits for a long while before she starts to row them back, like she’s waiting on a miracle. But the water remains eerily still.

When the boat starts to move towards the shore, the awful reality of it all finally seems to sink in for Eddie. He moves out of Robin’s arms and his hand finds Steve’s knee, squeezes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “S-Steve, I’m so fucking sorry, I should’ve—”

“Stop it,” Steve says. “You—you got him through—I was supposed to—”

I trusted you, and I was right; you brought him back to me.

“I let go,” Steve says through a wave of self-hatred. “I—I had him, and I let go.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t deserve to hear the disagreement in his voice; there is nothing Eddie could say to ease this all-consuming guilt.

“I should’ve—he was my—”

Steve’s voice fails him, which is just as well. He doesn’t know how to finish that thought without it destroying him.

“I’m coming with you,” Nancy says, when they’re on dry land.

“What?” Steve says, exhausted.

“His—his mom. You’re not doing it alone.”

They might’ve won, but that doesn’t mean the town remained unscathed as each Gate shut. Violent tremors were felt all over; there’s a shortage of beds in the hospital, and there’s yet more people missing.

It helps Claudia accept it, at least. She’s not the only parent waiting in vain for a body to be recovered.

Nancy keeps her word, leading the explanation, but Steve forces himself to speak at the end, underlines that her son cannot come home—because he had seen how hope had destroyed the Hollands.

She nods silently.

You should hate me, Steve thinks. Hate me.

But the only emotion in her eyes is love—love and pain.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I wasn’t quick enough.”

“No,” Eddie says suddenly.

He’s kept quiet up until now, hovering in a corner. Steve had tried to tell him that he didn’t have to come, that it could be dangerous for him to be seen. But even before Nancy started talking, Claudia had never once threatened to call the police.

“It was my fault,” Eddie continues. “I—”

“That’s not true,” Steve says. “Claudia, don’t listen to him, he’s—”

But Claudia is just staring at Eddie.

“You didn’t kill that poor girl,” she says.

“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “No, ma’am.”

“Dustin.” Claudia takes a deep breath. “He was protecting you.”

Eddie’s face crumples. “Yes.”

Claudia smiles sadly. Steve doesn’t know how she’s doing it, how she’s still standing—the strength it must take, for her not to scream.

“You must’ve been worth it,” she tells Eddie.

He has to leave the room, a hand covering his face.

There isn’t a funeral.

Claudia insists on putting up missing posters, even though it’s clear from the dullness in her eyes that she understood perfectly well what Nancy meant when she said, we lost him.

“I know it’s—” Claudia breaks off as Steve helps her make more copies. “I just—I just thought. Joyce, she…”

Steve puts up the posters around town. He can’t stand the thought of bystanders pitying the hope of a grieving mother. Not again.

Claudia calls, tells him to come over to the house. She says she’s got some of Dustin’s things in a box, not a lot, but just in case—just in case…

“He’d want you to have them,” she says.

Steve has to stand with the phone in his hand long after she’s hung up, breathing heavily. Then he does the round of calls. Nancy, Robin, Eddie.

He needs someone there, he knows it, otherwise he’ll never go back in the house.

He can’t face the kids. Can’t face the fact that he’s failed them.

“I—I can’t, man,” Eddie tells him over the phone, voice brittle. “I can’t go back there. I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t blame him.

Nancy gets the hint and accompanies Steve as they head into Dustin’s bedroom. Steve tries not to look at the bed, the pillows still rumpled from when Dustin last—

He picks up the small cardboard box left on the floor. He scans the top of it. It’s small things. A book on Morse Code. An almost empty can of Farrah Fawcett spray.

Nancy’s hand’s on his back, not doing anything, just resting there. She reaches into the box and picks up the can.

“You did his hair, right? For the Snow Ball?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

She’s smiling. “He looked so—so sweet.” She blinks rapidly, still smiling. Eyes growing wet. “I don’t know if—if he mentioned it, but. I danced with—”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve laughs, and it gets close to dangerous, to the grief spilling out, before he pulls it back at the last second. “Mentioned it? When I picked him up, it’s all he talked about. Nance, you made him feel like the coolest kid in school.”

Robin sits in the passenger seat, puts the box in between her knees so the things aren’t rattling about while Steve drives.

And she laughs too, except it fades off into a sob. “I forgot.”

He puts a hand out, and she takes it. “What?”

“He’d taken my library card,” she says. “So he could, um, check—” She clears her throat. “Check out more books.”

Steve’s knuckles turn white as he holds onto her. She never complains.

Eddie… drifts.

In some sense, Spring Break feels like a bad dream. The trailer’s back to normal, no gaping hole to another dimension in the ceiling, and the police tape gets removed so quickly that it’s almost laughable. He doesn’t care that the suspicion around him has dropped in the wake of a ‘natural disaster.’

He doesn’t really care about anything.

He keeps in touch just enough to know that Claudia is staying with her sister for a little while, left Steve the keys for watering the houseplants, probably.

And then Steve calls him from the Henderson’s house phone.

“I’m—I’m sorry, no—no-one else was picking up,” he says. “It’s—it’s his cat, I can’t—”

“Missing?” Eddie assumes, because Steve sounds one breath away from a panic attack. “Hurt?”

“No, no, just—please, can you come? Please.”

So Eddie does.

He hates every moment of the drive, but he does it.

He finds Steve in the bedroom, and fuck, it still looks so lived-in, like Dustin’s just stepped out for a moment, the room filled with nerdy teen clutter. Eddie’s sure that if he looked closely, he’d find notes from old campaigns littering the desk, but there’s no way he can remotely handle that, so he doesn’t.

There’s currently a more pressing sight, anyway.

Because Steve’s standing by Dustin’s bed, and he’s not looking at Eddie, because there’s a little Siamese cat blinking up at him.

“He’s gone,” Steve is saying.

The cat mews plaintively.

“He’s gone, okay?” Steve’s words get harsher. “What do you want me to—? He’s gone.”

Eddie steps forward, scoops up the cat—doesn’t flinch when its claws dig into him. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you some food.”

He goes to shut the door behind him, but not quick enough.

Steve’s not once cried throughout all of this—not anywhere that Eddie could see, at least.

He’s crying now. Silent, trembling—sinking down to the bed, a fist clenched around the sheets.

Eddie closes the door.

He gently lets the cat go when he’s in the kitchen, finds a can of wet food soon enough, in a cupboard underneath the sink.

That’s where he finds the notepad, too.

And too late, he realises it’s Dustin’s handwriting, that this was a log he’d made of each time he’d fed his cat, making sure to not repeat the same food twice in a row. ‘TUNA’ he’d scrawled in an obvious rush, like he was heading off somewhere, and then Eddie sees the date.

March 22nd.

He doesn’t know that he’s crying until Steve comes up behind him, puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Eddie gasps, “sorry, I’m sorry, I’m…”

Because this isn’t about him. Shouldn’t be about him.

Steve pulls him close.

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. He was yours. I’m sorry.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It sounds like, You loved him, too. It’s okay.

Steve spends the night at the trailer.

It’s late when Eddie wakes up to an empty side of the bed. He gets up, walks slowly, slowly until he can just barely squint into the living room.

Steve doesn’t notice him. He’s standing on a chair, arm outstretched. Fingertips brushing the ceiling.

“Are you there?” he murmurs.

Eddie’s heart sinks like a stone.

Steve waits in the silence. His hand shakes.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”

They both know what it means—the nights together, sleeping so closely, skin to skin.

One of them will find the other lying awake, and a chaste kiss will be pressed against a shoulder, shh, shh. They don’t talk about it, don’t initiate anything more.

Their world is too heavy for it.

Steve wants to tell Dustin anyway. Wants him to give them both so much shit for it, let his goddamn horrendous ego run wild.

Tell me again, Eddie whispers at two in the morning.

Steve breathes in, out. Starts the story with a ridiculous kid tugging red roses out of his hand.

“Come over,” Steve says. It’s nine o’clock at night. His voice is jagged. “My place.”

Eddie finds him just standing in the hall.

“Nancy called,” he says, too matter-of-fact. “‘Bout an hour ago, Holly’s Lite-Brite lit up, almost burned her. The power went off.”

Eddie tries to temper his voice, but when he says, “Steve,” he almost cringes at the pity in it.

“Don’t,” Steve says. “I know. I know. But.” He jerks his head upstairs. “I need you. I need you to—to tell me what I’m looking at.”

The bedside lamp is on in Steve’s room. There’s a book on translating Morse Code left open on the floor.

The light is blinking.

Steve searches Eddie’s face desperately. “That’s the—that’s what you did, right? SOS?”

Eddie picks up the book. Sits on the bed, knees weak.

“Yes,” he says.

Steve closes his eyes, exhales in a shudder. “Oh my god, you can see it. Okay, okay.”

He opens his eyes, and it looks like he’s fighting with himself, caught between wanting to say more and destroying the fragile hope he has.

So Eddie says it for him.

“Dustin?”

YES.

After Eddie translates, Steve stares at the lamp. His hand reaches out. Fingers curl around thin air.

“How do we know?” he asks. “How do we know it’s—”

DUMBASS.

Steve starts to laugh. A tear falls down his cheek.

“I can hear him,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I can hear him.”

And then Eddie can, too—so, so faintly. The tiniest giggle.

He sounds exhausted.

WATERGATE. TEAR. NOT STRONG ENOUGH.

“The—the tear?” Eddie says.

ME.

“We’re coming,” Steve says. His fingertips graze the lightbulb. “We’re coming, Dustin.”

HURRY.

They don’t tell anyone. Steve puts his phone off the hook before they leave, because Nancy is bound to call repeatedly.

They get into the boat and push off into Lover’s Lake without a word. It’s an unspoken agreement: they’ll get him back or die trying.

They dive together. Search the river bed, stones slipping through their fingers until…

A smooth ridge of plastic. Eddie’s guitar pick.

They pull.

The gap is small, but they make it—and when they emerge into The Upside Down, there’s no particles floating around, but the air is thin.

The landscape is disappearing. Dying.

Just next to the Gate lies Dustin. His hand is outstretched, like he’d fallen while reaching towards home.

“He’s not breathing,” Eddie says, hushed and terrified.

“Tilt his head back,” Steve says, already on his knees. They don’t have time to panic. “Lift his chin.”

“Okay, okay.”

“You’re gonna do the breaths, okay? One second, then—”

“I know, I know what to—”

“You got him?”

“Y-yeah.”

Steve starts compressions. Shouts, “Now!” to Eddie when it’s time.

One second. Pause. One second.

Repeat.

“Come on, Dustin, you’ve gotta breathe,” Eddie pleads through Steve’s counting. “We’re here, we’re here, you’ve gotta—”

Steve slams on his chest. Once.

“—breathe, we love you so fucking much, just—”

Twice.

“—breathe!”

Dustin launches upwards, into Steve’s arms, coughing, coughing.

Breathing.

“That’s it,” Eddie sobs, “oh my God, that’s it.”

They leave when Dustin communicates through shaky hand gestures that he can hold his breath. It’s far from ideal—Steve doesn’t like it at all, but there’s no way they can linger; the hole they’d made to break through the Gate is already threatening to close.

Besides, with both him and Eddie pulling Dustin up, it’s the quickest swim of their lives.

The Gate shuts behind them, as if it had never been.

Up to the surface. Clinging to Dustin, hearing him gasp, splutter.

“You with me? Hey, hey, you with me?”

Dustin nods; Steve pulls him on board, Eddie right behind in case he falls.

Silence. Breathing. Dustin up against his chest, shaking.

Eddie mutters, “Here, here,” passing over the towels that they’d brought with what had felt like foolish optimism.

“You—you d-didn’t bring a ch-change of clothes?” Dustin says, with biting, wonderful sarcasm. His teeth chatter, and Eddie wraps him in another towel. “D-do I do all the th-thinking around here?”

Steve’s answering laugh turns into weeping—he runs a towel over Dustin’s hair, sobs through a smile when Dustin whines out a petulant complaint.

“I’ve got you,” Steve says. He kisses his forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Dustin says. He shuffles closer, cuddles further into Steve’s chest even though they’re all soaking wet. “Knew… knew you’d come.” His hand reaches to the side, fumbling for Eddie. “Sorry. Think I broke your… your pick.”

Eddie just shakes his head, tearful, a hand covering his mouth.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I really don’t think he cares, bud.”

“My mom’s gonna freak,” Dustin mumbles. His head is nodding tiredly as he says it.

“Yeah,” Steve echoes. He swallows. “She—she will.”

Eddie picks up the oar. Dustin sighs, lax with sleep. Steve can feel him breathing.

And he’ll have changed in some ways—they all have, it’s inevitable. It would be naive to think otherwise.

But the glimmer of him is still there, in his voice.

He’s back.

Steve holds Dustin tight—keeps him as warm as he can as Eddie rows, taking them home, home, home.

#so i might’ve got carried away and wrote a full on fic. oh loved doing the parallels in this #eddie and dustin #steve and dustin #henderfam #dustin henderson fic #steddie #steddie fic #dustin and nancy #dustin and robin #steve and nancy #steve and claudia #eddie and claudia #dustin henderson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #made up fic titles #steve and robin

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