#I mean I don't know how you'd word that any more clearly than I already did initially | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loganlermanstanaccount · 9 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 5)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 4, Part 6

summary: You deal with the aftermath of last night. Lyla has a party.

warnings: very suggestive. mentions of sex, vulgar language, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this is so so so self indulgent i cannot express it enough. probably ooc asf: you've been warned.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8.5k (i'm on a strict plan and had a lot to get through lmfao)

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

and they were good.

Eventually, you're bundled into your room in a fit of giggles and with shaky legs. Even in Miguel's hoodie, insisted upon by the man himself, the sheets feel a little colder after he leaves. Initially, he had collapsed on top of you; smothering you with the heat of his bare skin and the sweats that ride down his hips, dangerously low. You're pushing him off, or trying to, heavy and leaden-limbed. Whether it's the weight of that orgasm or the remnants of that blunt that turns your arms to jelly – you don't know.

Honestly, you don't think you care. He's resorted to laying his head on your chest in mock sleep – clearly still high as fuck – and stretching out on top like a housecat. He's warm on your lap; so you bring a hand to card through dark brown curls that rest on the flat of your sternum.

You'd never have known it: Miguel has a playful side, beneath all the sarcasm and red tape.

In the morning, he's gone - with only his hoodie as proof that something happened. For you, it's a hazy memory - warmth tinged in the lazy light of last night's high. It comes and goes like the tide on a quiet beach: remembering how he touched you, the feel of bare skin on bare skin, the way it burned when he kissed your shoulder….

And it's gone, again. You're left tracing the hickey at the base of your neck, and it aches . A little moment like that, fooling around like teenagers on prom night, and it shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Groaning into your pillow, you burrow into the expanse of your roommate's hoodie. With a busy week incoming, you can't afford to be distracted – not like this.

And so, you bury the urge to knock on Miguel's door, and put your lips around the words that mean… more. You want more. It feels greedy to verbalise it, as if you've seen too much of him already. The irony; humping almost fully clothed and yet, feeling so bare. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth – blood, maybe. Maybe he's finally done it: stuck the knife between ribs to find out what colour you bleed. Miguel's a scientist after all; prone to making things go pop and snap , slicing into specimens with a steady hand.

It's too much, too close for comfort and you can't afford it: affection and intimacy in any shape or size was a fatal wound , especially after last time. Instead, you let the morning waves crash over its outline left in sand. A body – blood and gristle and guts – washed away by the tide.

You find yourself pushing down dangerous feelings. After finally getting comfortable with Miguel, all that progress seems for naught; bumbling around the apartment like a deer finding its legs. The first morning, you're spared a confrontation as he's already gone from the apartment. Earlier than usual, and you hand-wave away that little voice in your head that says: he's avoiding you .

He's not. He can't be. And you know it because he's able to look you in the eye. Briefly, but it's much longer than you can last. You have a whole conversation when he comes home and it only makes you want to rip out your eyeballs a little.

You're on the sofa, hands in your lap and antsy. There's a stupid soap on the TV, but you can barely concentrate; head too full of cotton to make sense of the screen. You're so lost in thought that when the door clicks open, you jump half a foot into the air.

"Shit." You turn, watching Miguel kick his shoes off at the door. Flashing him a nervous smile, you wave limply and turn around to cringe.

"Heeey," God. You burrow into the cushions.

"Hey." He's got a plastic bag in hand. He drops the rucksack on his back, and goes straight to the kitchen.

You call out. "Takeout's in the fridge."

He hums, and you hear clattering from the doorway. Turning, you watch; sleeves rolled up in a smart shirt. You can see the muscles in his back from here; the ripple of hard lines under cotton. Craning your head, you can't help but be curious.

"Stop sticking your nose in."

You're halfway off the couch, and stop dead in your tracks.

"M'not-"

He peeks out from the doorframe; catching you in the act.

"You're not allowed to look."

It leaves you spluttering, getting off the sofa like a spoilt child. He's telling you not to look, and like clockwork you're itching for it; padding towards the counters. Miguel must have superpowers the way he catches you, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed across his broad chest. You're on your tiptoes and trying to get a glimpse into the kitchen. He shifts in the way, tight-lipped and shaking his head.

"Meant it. It's a surprise." You cock your head, like you can't believe what he's saying.

You step to the other side and he steps along with you, blocking your view.

"... Miguel ." You say it slowly, incredulous. You're stepping closer, ever so slightly, but he stays stony-faced and resolute.

For the first time in 24 hours, since you basically fucked him in the room next door, you're looking each other in the eye. Squinting, you hold his gaze but he barely cracks a smile.

"Sit down." He says it sternly, but his voice is soft. "Please."

With a flourish, you bring your hands up in surrender and inch back towards the couch. It's the usual chopping and thudding of cabinets being opened and closed. It takes everything not to look back, but you force yourself to concentrate on the TV.

Finally, he places a bowl in front of you before flopping to your side. He's still in his work clothes, adjusting the waistband of black slacks and popping off the buttons at the top of his shirt. You're trying not to stare, not to drool at the way he just melts ; sinking into the seats like a lolly on a hot sidewalk. When he brings his bowl closer, that's when you inspect the contents of yours.

"Is this…?" You start, and he hums; taking a healthy slurp of noodles in the process.

You shake your head to no one in particular. It's the very same instant ramen you've stopped buying, after constant complaints and lectures from the man himself. There's enough salt in here to banish a demon, he'd spit. In retaliation you'd bite back, saying, maybe you'll fuck off where you came from, and retreat to your room to eat in peace. It's your favourite flavour; perfectly salty and flavourful and definitely not good for you. In the broth, there's the milky white and yellow of an egg, with spring onions and fresh veg breaking the surface. Even before you've taken a bite, you feel that warmth at your chest, again.

He doesn't even look at you, pointing a finger at the screen instead.

"I thought Jenny was dead?"

You clear your throat of that lump, rising up like a fishing boat spit up by the waves.

"That was her twin sister, Jane."

"...I thought Jane was dead." He frowns.

"No, no, Jane faked her death in the mining accident; and ran off with all that inheritance money… were you paying attention last episode?"

"No, you watched it without me."

"Yeah, but you said you hated this show–"

" –only because it's a total rip-off of La Patrona ,"

"And yet, you're begging me not to watch without you–"

"Begging seems a little strong–"

He's kept his sharp tongue, and you're too occupied with arguing to notice the hand wrapped around the back of the sofa; how you're both inching closer until your legs come to rest on his own. You're focusing on his lips, drawn in by a pull that seems stronger than gravity.

He's saying your name, and you snap out of it. Blinking up at him, a deer in headlights, you remember yourself and look away. Tension pulls at the both of you, a string as thin as fishing wire that snaps with your realisation. You like the way he looks, flushed and flustered after a long day. You could make him feel even better, right now, if he wanted it. You'd drop to your knees and wrap a hand around his cock, pulling those beautiful sounds out of him – the very same ones you'd fucked yourself to the thought of, not so long ago.

If, being the key word. And with the way he shifts back, away from you, you're not too sure if last night was a flash in the pan or something more.

Everything about Miguel screams dangerous; flags in deep scarlet that are telling you to stay the fuck away. He doesn't commit, sleeps around; refusing to define or put a label on any significant relationship in his life. He won't even admit, say the words, that he's fucking a half-dozen girls right now; even when you've got concrete proof in the form of messy lips and banging on the walls. Okay, maybe half a dozen is a stretch; but three girls, on three separate, multiple, occasions for sure. Probably; you haven't technically seen anything but if the precision of last night was any indicator – the terrifying speed at which he made you fold like a lawn chair – he had significant experience. He was a fucking veteran; dedicated to the sport for the love of the game.

You find yourself caught in his web all the same; kicking yourself at your naivete. He's turned away now, seemingly unfazed, making little comments at the show you've got on TV. It's becoming increasingly clear where you stand: caught in a game of chicken with your roommate – a man with balls of steel, if last night was any indicator. You're ill equipped to deal with such levels of conflict avoidance, despite years of hands on experience.

The question remains, stuck in the gaps of your teeth like udon, thick and dense and chewy: how exactly does he feel about you? Where do you belong?

~~~

It's been quite the week and a half, mostly spent trying to make sense of Miguel. One minute you're at each other's throats, and the next, he's talking you through rate laws and kinetics equations. Apparently , you've got a lecturer he used to have, and he insists on sidling up to you on the dining table; prodding at your paper and liberally crossing out errors. His inconsistency has you irate ; and it means you get petty, picking fights and laying easy bait. Frustratingly enough, all it does is make that tension worse; thick and choking ; in your little apartment.

The only thing you have to look forward to is the party at Lyla's; of which you've volunteered to help set up. It means food, and drink, and a couple hours of respite, hopefully.

On the day, you get to Lyla's early. Miguel's at work, promising to be there in a couple of hours, and so you take the subway instead. Yet again, walking up to her apartment feels like another world – one of marble and faux fur and lots of animal print. When she lets you up, you're left with only your thoughts and the quiet hum of the elevator. In the mirrored wall, you take stock of your outfit: snug denim and a little shirt. Admittedly, your wardrobe felt a little lacking – jeans and a nice top being your go to. Right now, your only hope is that the dress code would be more forgiving.

The door swings open and Lyla's pushing you towards the living room, chattering away at a mile a minute. It's overwhelming as you're dragged into the light, half a dozen boxes and its miscellaneous contents strewn onto the floor.

"–and Jess has the nose of a bloodhound, so if anything seems even a little off, she'll know… "

You nod slowly as Lyla squeezes your arm with so much force, it cuts off blood supply.

"Like clockwork. We need this to run like clockwork."

Fingers numb, you watch as her features set; a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and shadow that cuts her face just so. Overcast and dramatic; simply put, it's terrifying.

There's a loud Pop! from behind, making you jump.

"... sorry !" Peter's voice rings out, and there’s a tangle of brown hair and dark eyes peeking over the kitchen island.

Walking over, you can see he's splayed out on the tiles, balloons littered all over the place. A balloon pump, long discarded, sits in its packet at barely an arm's length. More importantly, though, he's got a bundle of red hair and freckles in his arms; little May, sniffling and whining with what's left of a balloon between chubby fingers.

"Might need some help, over here…" He says it softly, rocking the little girl in his lap.

Lyla rolls up non-existent sleeves, face scrunched up in concentration. She closes her eyes ; fingers dancing as if typing on non-existent keys.

"...okay, okay, change of plans." She turns to you, eyes wrenched open and hands clasped together – Machievellian in nature. You suppose; with the sheer extent of her party planning skills, able to pull strings this way and that; it fits. "We've got exactly 3 hours and 23 minutes before everyone else arrives, plus about 17 minutes, give or take, before Jess does."

"How do you kno-" You start, but Peter presses a finger to his lips. She's in the zone, he seems to mouth.

“I need you and Pete to get these balloons done, and then we can set up the archway. I’ll call Ben, ask him where the fuck he is, and then we’ll see if we can get some banners and streamers up…. God , and the food…. think I need to threaten someone at the catering company, give me a sec,” She stalks off, muttering something that sounds important. Pete shrugs, kicking over a box of balloons; black, white and gold, a lot fancier than you had expected. May is eased off of his lap, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She sniffles, holding her head up bravely. It's probably the cutest thing you’ve seen all year.

“I give her 5 minutes before she realises Miguel’s going to be late.”

“...and God help us when she does.” You finish for him, settling down on the cool marble.

You make a start on the balloons, opening the untouched packets and pulling out a shiny pump.

“How long have you known each other?” You busy your hands by stretching the neck of a deceptively small balloon.

“Oh, Lyla?” He frowns. “A couple of years, maybe. We met because of Miguel – same with Jess and Ben, actually.”

It's your turn to frown. Miguel was the glue? It’s a picture that doesn’t quite match up with the meet-cute that you were painting in your head. If they met because of your roommate, it must’ve been a contentious group project, or someone rear-ended in the parking lot, that brought them together: something with a lot of shouting and arguing, you decide.

Maybe Pete sees the surprise on your face, because he adds, “I’ve known Miguel for longer, though… and he’s a lot nicer than people give him credit for.”

“...I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Nice? Not a chance.

“But you were thinking it. Promise, once you get to know him–”

He’ll give you a mind-numbing orgasm and pretend it never happened. Or something like that.

“ –he gets less confusing?” You grumble. “I’ve seen enough, I think.”

“So maybe he’s a bit of a prick. But under that cold, stony exterior; buried deep, deep, deep…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Deep down , somewhere, he’s got a heart.”

“I just,” You pause, choosing your next words more delicately. “I didn’t expect his friends to be like you guys. Fun and–” …a little batshit, and… “ – spontaneous. He’s so stoic sometimes, it’s worrying. Like, he’ll just blank out on the couch–”

“–frowning in the corner like the wall’s pissed him off personally? Yeah, I’ve seen that one a few times.”

“He’s just so hot and cold! Sometimes we’re good and almost friendly, and then all of a sudden he’s avoiding me at all costs, holed up somewhere. A-And then he’s making me breakfast, like that blip didn’t even happen… did I do something wrong? Has he said anything to you? I-I just want him to–”

The man besides you chuckles. And then, you flash him a violent look that has him flattening his features in a hurry.

“He just… takes some time to warm up, s’all. He’s changed – changing. I mean, we went to highschool together and I didn’t even realise ‘til we met again in college.”

“You went to highschool with him?”

“Yeah, but I was like, 2 grades ahead of him. We didn’t really talk except… we were both in this robotics club afterschool.”

“Robotics? Wires, and circuit boards, and–”

“ –robots. Honest-to-God, hand-on-heart, stupid little robots. And being teenagers with way too much time on our hands, we’d build ‘em, and then make ‘em fight to the death. Miguel… he took it way more serious than everyone else there. We’d mess around with goobers and battlebots – hell, sometimes we’d skip to get food. He was.. He was always there, though, hunkered down in the corner and tinkering away at something.”

“Now, I wasn’t popular in highschool, at all – I went to Robotics Club , so I think that about sums it up – but I remember… no-one could really understand him. Top of his class, always up for awards, but people thought he was a little weird. Come rain or shine, he’d always be in that corner seat with a screwdriver basically glued to his hand. And we didn’t have a clue what he was building.”

He seems wistful, thinking back to that time.

“When I finally asked him what it was, at the end of maybe… 2 semesters,” He smiles, one that deepens his dimples and brushes the corners of his eyes. “He finally told us. It was a… a fucking arena for all the stupid stuff we built. He’d really thought it through, too: all our equipment would get jumbled up, so he made little boxes and sections to separate them in. There was an LED pad he’d programmed to keep a scoreboard. It was made out of this… self-healing vinyl so we wouldn’t need to replace it too often. He got so excited when he was explaining it all; about how it folded up so we could bring it with us when we changed classrooms, and… honestly, I think they still have it there.”

He sighs. “I think that’s all he knows how to do, y’know. That’s the language he speaks, the only one he really understands. Taking care of people, giving them what they need. You’re barely friends with Miguel, then all of a sudden he’s giving you hangover cures cooked up in his kitchen, and cussing you out in the morning, ‘cus you went a little too ham after a breakup. Or…he’s bringing pizza to your apartment at 3 in the morning, ‘cus he knew you were lying about being okay after your Uncle’s funeral.”

He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, an absentminded hand in May’s. Her stubby fingers curl around his, and then he’s back, snapped out of that distant daydream.

“Give it time. He’s been through some shit. Miguel’s got layers, like–”

“Like an onion?” You offer, weakly.

“No, no. Like one of those cheese wheel things that May likes so much. With.. with the wrapper and the waxy red stuff on the..?” He handwaves it away. “Forget it. MJ knows what they’re called.”

~~~

You put your back into helping set up. You don't quite get the theme, but Lyla explains it all whilst you hang the contents of those boxes on the wall: a maximalist, hedonistic mish-mash of food, drink and decor. She wants it to feel like if Gatsby three raves, and actually fucked that sad twink – whatever that means. The visual representation of an orgasm, but classy, she says. More, more, more; and if your back doesn't hurt by the end of it, then it's not enough.

She's got you hauling ass across her front room, draping fabric and moving furniture like it's your job. Ben arrives and between the four of you (five, if you include May clambering on decor), it's all done. You can't help but think she's done a great job: the whole room decked out to look like the cover of an expensive wedding in Vogue – excessive but in a way that's only classy when rich people hire someone else to do it. Lush fabric in lieu of streamers draped on the walls, balloons sculpted into arches and tastefully dotted around the floor. The theme is black and white, with hints of gold, and gentle strings of pearl hang from ceilings and walls. It looks good, because it has to; Lyla's made you move everything around about a million times.

Gleefully, she rubs her hands together, turning to all of you. "Food's going to be here in 10, I think. You guys get changed and I'll double check when Miguel's bringing the cake."

Peter and Ben disperse into various rooms – with Peter noticeably rubbing his back, May on his arm. You're left with Lyla, awkwardly looking towards her for guidance.

"...get changed?" You look down at your woefully casual outfit. It seems you've come completely unprepared.

"Yep. Miggy didn't tell you about the dress code?"

…it's becoming increasingly difficult to cut your roommate some slack. With everything that's happened, rather conveniently, he's neglected to make any mention of a dress code.

Sheepishly, you start, "I didn't know, shit –"

Lyla cuts you off and brings a hand up to silence you. Bouncing on her toes, she's almost giddy with excitement.

"I know exactly what you can wear!"

She leads you upstairs to her room. You perch on her bed; and whilst you grapple with the fact that she even has an upstairs, you lose her in the deep depths of a walk-in. Lyla rummages through almost cartoonishly; wading through fur and leather and giant coats like an explorer hacking through dense forest. Eventually, she resurfaces, waving a bundle of white fabric. She hands it to you with a grin.

She gives you some room, pushing you through the double doors of her closet to get changed. The dress feels amazing on: well-made, thick fabric and endlessly snug in all the right places. In the mirror, you marvel at how such a simple garment transforms you: a silky slip that stops about mid thigh, draped beautifully on your shoulders, and hugging your hips like a glove. There's a little slit at the side that stops just a bit higher than you'd usually be comfortable with, but… it works. Incidentally, your makeup and hair compliments the look; soft and pretty and–

You hear a small gasp from behind the door. Lyla's got her head peeking out into the room, and then she's at your side with a gentle hand on your arm. She spins you around in front of the mirror.

"You look…" Her eyes light up, marvelling at you. " Gorgeous. You have to keep it."

"No, I can't… I won't . I was already underdressed, and this must have been expensive. I can't."

"No shit, of course it was expensive. But that's not a good enough reason… I barely wear it, and I've got more than enough clothes. Keep it ." She's smiling, head just over your shoulder in the mirror.

"It's not too much…?"

"Honestly, babe, it's not enough." She giggles. "D'you like it?"

It feels weird to look at yourself like this, dolled up and pretty – contrasting how you've felt in the past few months. It feels like you've been in survival mode; exhausted and perpetually tired. On, all the time, and sick with worry about one thing or the other. You've forgotten to take care of yourself, and as a result, this feels different.

Lyla notices: the way you stand up a little straighter and adjust your hair; the way you try your hardest to clamp down a smile. Do you like it? Slowly but surely, you nod.

"You're allowed to like it, y'know," She says, softly. "You look happy. You look good. "

You believe it, when she says it. You let that feeling carry you down the stairs; one hand on the railing and Lyla babbling away with an arm looped around yours.

~~~

Miguel is late – really late .

He was meant to be at Lyla'a about an hour and a half ago, which means he's rushing to get the cake. For once, at least that goes smoothly; and he picks up a little red velvet affair, piped to perfection and with " Happy 27th, Jess!" written on its face. It keeps him company on the way to the party, sitting snug on the passenger's seat as he drives more carefully than before. He figures it's better to be safe than sorry; already this late, there's no need to add cake smasher to the list.

The day's been draining, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with his favourite podcast. He knows his friends like the back of his hand, and knows that when Lyla says a small celebration for Jess, just a house party ; what she means is going the whole 9 yards, an excess of food and drink and disgustingly expensive decor, all for the sake of a birthday. He's had a glimpse of the guest list, and recognises about half of the people there – Lyla's too friendly for her own good, he thinks. He'd tried to talk her out of it, knowing Jess would be more than up for a smaller dinner, but she had her mind set. And it's impressive, what she's no doubt managed to achieve in the past few weeks of meticulous planning.

Nevertheless, it's not something he has the energy for, right now. Work had been a slog; and he'd had a couple hours of lectures before a meeting with his thesis supervisor – where she had ripped his outline to shreds, frankly. He's still sore from that verbal lashing, but fears the one he'll get from Lyla more, if he doesn't come.

And… and there's you, headstrong and stubborn and insisting on attending; even though he had made it abundantly clear you were under no obligation to do so. It must be out of spite, he thinks. But with the dress code, he can't help but daydream as to what you'd look like; maybe, a pretty little dress on, hair done a bit different, and… ohhh fuck. He didn't tell you about the dress code.

He's gripping the steering wheel, annoyed at himself for such a little slip up. And it's not just the fact that he's forgotten; but he knows, considering the past few days, you might take it the wrong way. He's not stupid ; he knows he's been wishy-washy, all because it's hard to decide how he wants you or if he should. More than anything, he feels guilt; getting you high and oh-so close to fucking you, just the way you deserve, and then… he can't. It's hard to explain, and even harder for him to wrap his head around. That logical part of him screaming: you can't fuck your roommate without consequences. But he's already had a glance into Pandora's box, a taste of that sweet fruit – of temptation , strong and heady.

It's that taste left in his mouth, of something sweet, that lingers when he walks into the party. The door's open, but even from down the hallway he can feel it: the rattle and shake of pumping music. He squeezes himself in, dodging the mass of bodies packed into the main room. The lights are low, music loud and the celebration well underway. More than anything, he's hoping it's so busy he can just show his face for a bit, and then slip out.

He towers over other people, shuffling past, giving a nod or hello to all the people that slap his back and greet him. A scattered chorus of 'Hi' s and 'S'up, Miguel's, and then he's placing the cake on the counter, pushing past half-empty drinks and beer bottles. He snatches one up, looking around. He's watching for the furred collar that Lyla's no doubt wearing, or mousy brown in the neon lights; but with the pumping mass of bodies, he can't see much.

He's ready to check upstairs when the crowd parts, and he sees you ; swirling in the mass. It makes his chest bloom with heat; you're gorgeous, dressed in white like an angel and smiling in a way he's never seen before. And then, his heart stops as someone else comes into view: another man, somewhat taller than you. There's an arm wrapped around your waist, and the man dances up against you in a way that makes something cold and bitter flare up within him. Miguel stays glued to the spot, for some reason, unable to take his eyes off of you: illuminated in the light, beautiful and flowing like a spectre. And like nails on a chalkboard, all he can do is watch as you dance up against someone else.

His mouth goes dry, and then he's making a beeline for the double doors at the back; a glassy entrance to a balcony tucked away. The air is stifling in there, but when he's on the balcony, finally, he's able to breathe.

There's someone nursing a brightly coloured drink, in its corner. Jess, big hair braided back and a velvety red jumpsuit on. She turns at the clatter of the door opening, before bursting into a wide smile.

" Miguel!" She cheers, enveloping him in a hug.

"Hey," He smiles warmly, sinking into her arms. "Happy birthday, Jess."

"Thank you, kindly." She curtsies, producing a faux southern twang and laughing all the same. Then, she wags a finger at the man in front of her. "You're late . "

He rubs his temples. "I.. I know."

"Lyla's gonna fucking kill you. "

"I know."

She gives him a playful punch. "You okay, over there?"

He gives her a rueful smile. "Yeah, Jess. Of course. When am I ever not okay?"

"I've got a list, big guy, but we'll be here all day."

She laughs and Miguel glances over through the glass; drawn to you even now. The song's changed, a bass line that rattles the panes, and you're still glued to that guy . Just as quickly, he looks away.

With a front row view to that display, Jess raises an eyebrow. She follows his gaze, connecting the dots.

" Oh. " Her voice is gentle. "S'that her?"

" Her?" Miguel echoes.

" Her . Your roommate. The one Lyla says you're fucking."

"You and I both know– "

"Okay, okay, maybe she didn't say those exact words…. but there's something there, for sure."

"Not possible . " He says it plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She leans against the railing, taking a careful sip of her drink.

"Xina says you're doing stupid shit to impress her. Peter says you're making heart eyes whenever she's in the room. Ben says– "

"Xina? What's she got to do with anything?" He's deflecting, Jess notes. Miguel, usually so quick with the sarcasm, and he's refusing to touch the other half of what she said.

"...you're tutoring half of her classmates."

He purses his lips. "Yeah, but I didn't think –"

"...you didn't think girls would talk?" She splutters. Of course it sounds stupid, when she puts it like that.

"Yeah, well, Xina's still not talking to me , so…" He trails off, shaking his head.

"It's almost as if you broke her heart into a million tiny pieces, Mig." She rolls her eyes. "Get your head out of your ass, man."

She turns to face the city and Miguel does the same, with a heavy sigh. It's quiet for a moment, with only the sound of cars below and dull thrum of speakers behind to keep them company. He's always liked this, he thinks. A moment of calm with Jess, the only sane person for miles around. They're able to sit in comfortable silence, in a half-minute that transcends words.

He reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a little parcel that's wrapped up in red paper. He nudges Jess, handing the present over.

"Happy birthday."

She smiles, tearing into the little package. Then she stops halfway, heart melting at what peeks through.

" Miguel… " She coos, a hand on his arm to steady herself. Out of the packing paper, she produces two little boots; red and blue and made of soft wool. "How did you…?"

"It wasn't obvious, but… sick in the mornings, switching to soda when we go out to a bar…" He allows himself a smile. "And I asked what's-his-face, just to be sure."

"See, I can't tell if you actually don't know my husband's name or–" She cuts herself off with watery laughter. "F-Forget it. Fuck, I'm gonna cry all this makeup off,"

He takes a sharp intake of air. "They were… mamá made them."

"Thank you, oh God . I know how much this–"

He cuts her off with a hand wave, as if to say; don't worry about it. "Sorry I couldn't come to the wedding. Your husband seems nice, and he treats you well. Although , he's kind of–"

" Corny . Yeah, we get that a lot." She's half laughing, half crying, fanning her face to stop her mascara from running.

He wraps a big arm around her, pulling Jess into his side. Happy tears, he hopes as she blubbers.

"I think m'getting too old for this… we don't see each other enough, lately… a-and I would've been happy with the dinner, then Lyla told me there was an emergency over here–"

"She did good. Really good. Don't tell her I said that, though."

She nods, bringing a finger to her lips with a smile. "And you don't tell the other's about…"

"Of course not. When you're ready, Jess."

"I love you, man." She grins wide, and Miguel returns it with one of his own; an increasingly rare megawatt smile. It quickly falls with her next words.

"If you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll break your kneecaps and blame it on the hormones."

She grabs his beer, opening it with her teeth, and hands it back to him. A little scared, Miguel takes a healthy swig.

"Oh, shit. " Jess exclaims, batting his arm. "I completely forgot. Lyla's got some stupid games on, upstairs."

"Who with?"

"The usual suspects, Mig – though Peter's long gone and… I don't even know where Ben goes, actually. But you can bring your girlfriend up, if you promise not to eyefuck her across the room."

" Gross , Jess."

She raises a hand up in surrender, leading the way back inside.

~~~

Miguel's here all of a sudden, and in a moment you thought would be more of a bang ; you lock eyes with him as Jess herds you upstairs. It's less of a sharp pain at the ribs and more of a crescendo; pooling warmth spreading to fingers and toes. He's still in his work clothes: crisp white shirt with a couple buttons undone, and black trousers. A little formal, and yet, he doesn't feel out of place; wearing the monochrome of the dress code, and looking twice as good as any man in the room. Somehow, you've forgotten how tall he is; lumbering over everyone else as he cuts between the crowd. He snakes behind you, giving you a strange look as you walk up the stairs. All of a sudden, you're weary of your dress, tugging down its hem as best you can. Miguel stays behind you, a gentle hand at the small of your back.

"You're okay," He whispers, sending shivers down your spine. " I've got you ."

He doesn't mean it like that , but it's too easy for you to close your eyes and imagine what it could be; words he kissed into skin when you're on top, struggling to take his length.

You ignore that coil tightening at the pit of your stomach, choosing instead to focus on Lyla stumbling through the door, trademark pink shades slipping down her nose. Behind her, there's a little sitting room; plush furniture and a massive tv – with quite a few consoles in the corner, you note. She shouts your name, barely audible over the music.

" – oh, and hi, Miguel!" She's too drunk to be mad, and you don't notice Miguel visibly relaxing. She takes your hand, calling over to Jess just behind you. "We saved you a mocktail, J."

Taking your seat, you settle down next to Lyla; perching with your legs crossed on the seat. Miguel sits some way away, on the opposite side of your makeshift circle, clearly trying not to make eye contact. Jess elbows him, and he turns to her, before having a heated argument; all hushed whispers and hand gestures. It's the most animated he's been in the past week, for sure…

"We're playing Never Have I Ever, Jess! Like back in college."

The woman in question rolls her eyes, giving a flash of pretty dimple. Back in college, Lyla says, when they'd drink cheap beer and spill their guts in dive bars – a tradition Jess wasn't too upset to see go. She didn't have the stomach for it then, and she doesn't now; but it probably wouldn't hurt to relive some of that fun.

It's a warmup round, so to speak; a strong drink thrust into your hands. You take turns going around the circle, starting off relatively tame. First, it's Never have I ever skipped a class. Everyone, all college aged or older, drinks to that one. It's practically a given. And then someone chips in with Never have I ever broken a bone . Again, most people drink – taking advantage of the freebies to get a little tipsy.

It's Lyla that throws out the juicy ones, after a couple of duds.

" Never have I ever faked an orgasm." She says it from behind her glass, giggling.

Less people drink, this time. Sheepishly, you raise your glass, taking a healthy gulp. Lyla takes the opportunity to gasp, clutching at her chest and fanning her forehead dramatically.

You're whispering back, half laughing and half telling her off, "That's not that weird, Ly. Hasn't everyone…?"

"Not me. How's your partner meant to know it's shit if you fake it?"

It's her sincerity that makes you laugh; wide-eyed and completely incredulous. You're clamping down the giggles when you look around, immediately locking eyes with Miguel. He gives you an odd look, as if amused.

You're up next, and roll up metaphorical sleeves. "Never have I ever had a threesome. "

There's murmuring around the room, and a couple of people take a drink. Lyla does, with glee, and someone else you don't quite know the name of. What surprises you, however, is when Miguel takes a swig; eyes locked onto yours.

You feel heat rising, blinking away as best you can. You still feel his gaze, of course. That game of chicken, the one you've so desperately been trying to avoid, rears its ugly head. You think Miguel is winning.

The questions get more and more provocative. Never have I ever been pegged… or pegged someone else. Lyla drinks, Jess takes a gulp of her fruity mocktail…. and so does Miguel. Never have I ever been cheated on. Most people drink to this one, including yourself. A shitty teen relationship barely counts, you suppose; but you're taking every opportunity for a drink right now.

Never have I ever cheated on someone. One or two people drink, and at least they have the decency to be ashamed. When Miguel drinks, however, you shift in your seat. Something settles within you, discontent. Yet again, your image of the man in front of you changes. For someone who sleeps around, maybe it's not too much of a stretch for him to cheat ; but the word feels so final, too cruel. It doesn't match up, for some reason, with your Miguel, who brings you piping hot noodles and hot water bottles on a bad day.

This time, he doesn't meet your eye.

Lyla decides she's bored, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"New game – truth or dare!" There's faux groans from around the room. Lyla sticks a tongue out, ignoring them, and continues. "Jess, as the birthday girl… you get first pick."

Jess lights up, gorgeous , with the hoops at her ears swinging to and fro when she looks around. You haven't spoken much to her, but she seems like good fun; making a whole song and dance of picking the first victim.

It's obvious, in hindsight, who she'd pick. There's only one person in the room visibly squirming, almost sweating , at the idea of something so out of his control.

" Miguel," She says, turning to the man sinking into cushions. "Truth or dare?"

He gives her a look, and she combats it with one of her own; the kind that could melt steel beams, and says It's my birthday, don't be a dick.

" Dare ." He grits his teeth.

"I dare you," She pauses for dramatic effect. "...to show us your porn watch history."

Imperceptible, his eyes flash towards you. You notice , mouth dry. He groans. "We're not 19 anymore, Jess. It's childish. I'm a grown ass man–"

" Truth or Dare , Mig."

"Truth." It's quick – which is very reasonable, considering her tone.

"When was the last time you fucked someone?"

Everyone turns to Miguel. He's looking at you, of course, wincing at the words he's about to say.

"I don't…" He's swirling the beer bottle in his hand, and then he shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. A… month, maybe."

" Bullshit!" Someone whisper-shouts, and then there's some laughter.

Jess' eyebrows jump up, and Miguel bats her concerns away, whispering something under his breath. You can't quite catch it but his body language is clear: don't ask. He downs the rest of his drink, lips around the bottle, as some liquid trails down the side of his jaw. You're watching, unrepentantly obvious, and he catches your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he swipes a finger to the liquid and licks it up.

Heart racing, you force yourself to look away and try to concentrate on the next few dares. The circle seems to have moved on, more interested in whatever juicy shit they can drag up in the next poor victim.

You've all but zoned out when it's the turn of Jun, egged on by a couple of friends. You frown. He's that guy you were dancing with earlier, caught up in heady music and swirling lights. Jun is handsome, in that famous starlet kind of way; square-jawed, pretty eyes, and dark, cropped hair. Boy wonder is lean-lined with a nice smile; the very same that had reeled you in on the dancefloor. Maybe it's the liquor, but you think he's looking at you now; raking sharp eyes over your figure.

"How do you know him?" You whisper to Lyla.

She cups a hand to your ear, more than halfway to being absolutely wasted.

"Used t-to work with him. He's nice enough, I think…? There was a rumour around the office; and apparently, he's got a massive di-"

"Truth or dare?" Someone says.

"Dare. Obviously." He flashes a smile in your direction.

You squirm, and Lyla shines with realisation.

"Oh my God." She whispers, and then she's interrupting before you can stop her. "Makeout with the hottest girl in the room. A proper one, tongue and teeth and–"

You elbow her, square in the ribs. Thankfully, she takes the hint. Jun cocks his head, as if mulling it over. He gets up.

Your head spins with the drink, and you're concentrating on keeping your sneakers flat on the ground. Head down, you don't notice the man walking over. He crouches, tapping your knee.

"Oh." You say, blinking up at him. "Hi, again."

"Hi, again." He smiles. It's like you're the only two in the room, and with the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your lips… "Can I kiss you?"

The words get caught in your throat, so you nod, fumbling.

He places a hand to your chin, gently pushing you closer and then you're kissing; sweet and gentle. You separate, and you open your eyes to find his blown . You've got tunnel vision: his lips are pretty and wonderfully swollen – you just can't help it.

You go back in again, parting your lips to let him in. He's cradling your jaw, tracing a hand up your thigh and it feels good. Closing your eyes, you sink into the heady haze of booze, grabbing at his shoulders. They're not as broad as Miguel's, and Jun isn't as clean shaven. When you snake a hand to the nape of his neck; it's rougher than your roommate's hair, cropped into a boyish cut instead of Miguel's gentle curl. Sighing, you both come up for air, and you're almost disappointed at the distinct lack of red-brown blinking back at you.

Nails on a chalkboard, and you're back in the room. You look around to amused faces, catching Lyla wide-eyed besides you. Jun's cheeky, placing a quick peck to the side of your mouth before sitting down. From your vantage point, you're scared to look, to really look , in fear of what you'll see.

Miguel, in the corner, with a white hot grip on his beer bottle. Catching that stormy gaze, something just clicks. Something resembling power, absolutely intoxicating, that heady rush you got from kissing someone else. Or, more accurately, getting a reaction from your roommate. Notoriously unwavering, and yet … he reveals a gap in his armour. A silent swipe to the ribs that doesn't kill, but draws blood.

People are dispersing now, growing tired of the games. Lyla darts off; with the attention span of an excited pomeranian, and the excessive alcohol, she's already lost interest. You take a breather, sinking into plush cushions and catch Miguel's eye. In the commotion, he's tossing his beer and walking up to you, as if gearing up to say something.

Someone sits into the seat besides you: tall and handsome, but definitely not Miguel. It's Jun, who smells like fresh flowers and cut grass, nudging your side.

"You're good at that," He says, with a little smile.

"Good at what?" You say, confused.

"That kiss." He seems a little bashful, probably sobering up. "It was… good. "

"Not…" You're distracted, eyes flicking over to find Miguel. He's gone. "Not my best work, I think."

He stretches an arm around the back of the sofa, caging you in a little closer, and all you can do is blink up at him.

"....you want to try again?"

He's handsome. He's flirting . And he's present; able to give you clear signs that he wants you. It's more than a certain someone can provide, and you're left with a deep-seated need that no-one else seems to be able to fulfill. Four words ring out in your head, clanging around like pinball. You. Might. Get. Laid.

It's enough to have you leaning up against Jun, a hand tracing circles in his thigh and fluttering your lashes as best you can. Hopefully it's a look that's says seductive, and not pink-eye. This far into the night, you don't quite have the energy to care.

Heavy petting and drunk giggling; you spend God knows how long in that little room, whispering stupid shit to each other. You introduce yourself, and so does he. A brief overview of your life; and you find yourself desperately trying to skip the small talk. Jun works with computers. You're a student. Jun is very good with his hands. You're a visual learner. Everything seems to fall into place.

Soon enough, you're swapping numbers and leading him out the door to somewhere more private . His apartment ; you find yourself hoping, as you make your way downstairs.

He's draping a jacket on your shoulders, and you wade through the crowd. The lights are spinning a little less, you find, holding onto Jun's palm. In that great big room; people packed in like black and white sardines; all you're looking for is something to tether yourself to – or someone. Relationships, you've learnt, were overrated. You're young, and single, and gorgeous ; able to bag whoever you want. And what do you want? A hookup, clearly; something simple and uncomplicated, without the mess of feelings to untangle yourself from in the morning.

There's a commotion from a corner of the room, and Jun pulls you back; craning his head to see. A jumble of people, crowded around the epicentre. He nods towards the bustle.

"Isn't that Miguel?" He shouts over the bass, and your eyes widen.

You push past, trying to get a better look. Flashing lights, pumping music. In the red and blue and black, he's there ; hand wiping a bloodied nose. He's saying something; and a couple of guys surround Miguel, giving rough shoves and shouting something you can't hear. Someone throws a punch and he takes it, barely shifting at the continuous blows.

It's a sobering sight, and you're worried; looking left and right at the onslaught of bystanders.

"Why isn't he fighting back ?" You say, barely audible. No-one's doing anything but watching; one or two even pulling their phones out to record. The sight makes you sick, and you're shouting his name, trying to get closer. Like a gunshot, sudden and sharp and cutting through the noise, he locks eyes with you. His eyes dark, with that same look he gave you not too long ago.

Another cruel kick, and he's down on one knee, clutching at his stomach. You notice the broken glass, the blood in his shirt. He's goading them, and still , he refuses to fight back. 250 pounds soaking wet and at least 6"5; he's a fucking killer – and everyone knows it. Why won't he fight back?

There's a pounding at your skull, and something deep and dark and complicated that twists around your insides, threatening to rise up – and then.. and then…

The lights are turned on, and the music stops. Lyla's at the stairs shouting obscenities; telling everyone to get the fuck out, or I'm calling the cops.

People disperse out the doors, but only a few rush towards Miguel. You do, of course, and then Jess is by his side to help him up. He must look worse than he feels because despite the bruising and pouring blood; he pinches the bridge of his nose like he always does, as if it's just a headache. He's laughing ; the smug bastard; incisors sharp and dangerous and flashing pearly white. Your heart's still racing; betraying complicated feelings. As the last dregs drip out of Lyla's apartment, you're all left to deal with the aftermath.

Jess looks shaken, Lyla's sobering up; and you're holding Miguel's hand, elbow deep in the oil spill.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #rigor mortis 😼#kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel x reader

1K notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

Text

Little Traitor

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Hello there, I was thinking of a Max x Wolff!reader. She and Toto doesn’t have a great relationship because he was so focused about F1 that he started forgetting her (birthdays, holidays etc.). Her and Max met when they where young and has stayed in contact, even starting a relationship. Anyways they get caught by some rando (media or fan) and She and Toto get in a fight. Red Bull team is very supportive and makes her one of them.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Stalking mentioned, Christian is actually nice, Toto is a dick, daddy issues

Part 2: Little Backstabber

It was no secret in F1 that you are Toto Wolff's daughter from his first marriage. Everyone thought he dotted on you like he does, Jack, and you let people believe that, but it was far from the truth. He didn't pay you any attention.

He didn't mean for it to happen, but when Lewis started to win repeatedly, he forgot about you. First, it was your birthday. It landed on a race, and you let it go when he called to apologize for not wishing you a happy birthday. But, he started to forget more important dates, your middle school graduation, holidays, high school graduation....even college graduation.

You kept brushing it off, but it has strained your relationship significantly, but you always put on that smile around cameras and acted like everything was okay and perfect.

When you were at the track, it wasn't for your father; no, it was for a World Champion, not the one your father wanted. But one of his biggest rivals.

Max and you met when you were both young, maybe 12-13 years old, and stayed in touch, even evolving into more than friends. Late-night talks turned into late-night kisses, and sleepovers turned into doing more than just sleeping. You hated hiding this from the world, but you both agreed it was for the best.

Max was well aware of your strained relationship with your father and knew that you'd need to keep this relationship hidden if you wanted anything to do with Toto. He hated it. He wanted everyone to know you were his and he was yours, but he kept it tight-lipped out of respect for you.

"Honestly, I'm tired of hiding." You whisper softly one night. It was a warm Baku night as you both walked around the city, enjoying its life and the people living their lives.

"What?" Max was shocked to hear your confession. He knew how serious and badly it would go if word got out about him dating the Mercedes Princess.

"I'm tired of it all, Max. I don't care if Dad isn't happy with it or if it breaks our relationship this time, I don't want to hide anymore." Your hand squeezes his as Max nods, kissing your head.

Unknown to both of you, someone was already one step ahead and working on the year's drama with one single article. The following day, you feel Max's arm tighten as he still sleeps, but your phone vibrates as you reach for it. Sleep-covered eyes squint as you read the notification.

Mercedes Princess? More Like Verstappen's Queen. Get the inside scoop on how the Mercedes Princess falls from grace and into the arms of her biggest rival.

"No, no, no, no! Oh god, NO!" You scream, covering your mouth as you scroll through the article, pictures upon pictures of you and Max through the years.

Max sits up quickly, hearing your frantic yells, and looks around, pulling you into him, worried someone was in here when they should be.

"Snoepje? What's wrong?" His voice thick with sleep as he starts to wake up fully. He freezes, seeing the tears run down your face, and snatches your phone as he stares in disbelief.

It starts with your first date, to your first kiss, and fucking he'll even your first night together. Of course, those photos didn't show it; it was clearly implied when it highlighted the different appearance of his girlfriend the following day. Max reads the article, his grip on you tightening with quiet anger as it deeply details your relationship and how you kept it hidden from your father.

"Fuck, baby, I-" He closes his mouth, unsure what to say to you. How does he apologize for this, for this blatant invasion of privacy.

"He's going to see this. He's going to" You stop before swallowing; it feels like knives going down your throat.

"It's okay; listen, let me get rid of this article first. This is so beyond the line of privacy; I mean fuck, they had to be stalking us." Max seethes tearing out of bed and shoving on sweatpants.

You sit in bed, mind reeling at what you should say to your father, how you will face everyone, or even in public. Grabbing your phone, you hit trends and see you trending number 1; you itched to click on your name, but you are terrified of all the hate you'll see. Instead, you focus on Max's voice, the anger and hurt he felt on the phone, knowing he was probably talking to Christian.

Max walks back into the room and shakes his head. "They're going to do everything they can to get rid of the article, but-" "It's already out there." You finish for him making Max nod his head, sitting across from you.

"If you want to go home, I understand." He whispers, making your head snap up.

"I'm not leaving you. Are you kidding me? Max, if I left now, that'd only make things worse, Dad.....the fans....it'll be a blood bath." You whisper, hanging your head again, grabbing Max's hand and squeezing it.

"No, I don't want to expose you to this part. I'm used to it, alright, there's no shame in wanting to leave Y/n, but I refuse to stand by while this happens." Max begs as he pulls you close, kissing you gently.

"Max, my father is probably tearing his hotel room apart." You whisper, cringing at how he might be reacting right now.

"Okay and? I love you, you're happy and respected, and fuck, I love you. So what if I've defiled you over and over and ov-" You laugh, slapping his shoulder lightly as he smiles, glad to see that smile.

"Come on, we've got qualifying, and I don't want you leaving my side," Max mumbles kissing your lips as he drags himself away from you to get dressed.

Pandemonium. It was utter chaos when you and Max arrived at the paddock. It was ordinarily busy on Qualifying days, but since the article dropped this morning, fans, commentators, and media have been everywhere trying to get a glimpse of you two or even a statement.

Red Bull took you in without even a second thought and protected you from the cameras as they pushed everyone away. Even posting a statement on all social media pages about legal consequences for the article and anyone who comes to the paddock without permission.

Max plants you next to Christian, who decided to sit inside the garage and next to you, knowing Max would trust him to keep an eye out. Christian doesn't say a word to you as he talks to Max about what needs to be done to get the Pole position, and you just sit there watching people move about, not a single soul questioning why you were there and not at Mercedes.

"He's got it, don't you think?" You snap out of your trance and look at Christian, who's staring at you, waiting for an answer.

"Wha-? Oh yeah, he's amazing. He'll get pole." You mumble, staring at the screens, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.

"I knew." He blurts out, making you turn, shock all over your face.

"He told me 2 years ago after his first Championship win. Confessed everything. Started asking me to watch you and Toto to ensure everything was okay. I didn't question it, but it didn't take long to figure out why. If...if you ever need a place to escape to, me and Geri have a place open for you...always." He mumbles before putting his headphones on and watching the screens with crazy lines and dots.

"Thank you." You whisper, putting on similar headphones as you watch Max dominate.

"Yes!" you scream, tackling your boyfriend, who just secured pole position. Max laughs as he holds you close, spinning you around; he couldn't be happier. He got pole, he doesn't have to hide his feelings, and he's holding you in his arms. Nothing could ruin this.

"Y/n Wolff." A dark German voice seethes, making everyone in the garage freeze. Even the cameras scurry off, knowing to not broadcast this.

"Papa." You whisper as Max sits you down, standing half in front of you, blocking your view of your father.

''Excuse me, Max, but I need to speak with my daughter." Toto drawls out, but you know that tone. It was. I'm super pissed and about to yell tone.

"Actually, I'm okay right here, sir," Max smirked, but it was a nervous reflex. He didn't want to start a fight, but he would for you.

"Max, it's fine. Go cool off, okay." You mumble, pushing the Dutch driver away, who looks back and forth between you two before kissing your forehead.

"I love you." He whispers for only you to hear before walking away, but just enough to still be within earshot.

"How dare you!" Toto spits, making you flinch slightly; thankfully, Max doesn't notice it as you feel like a little girl again when Toto used to punish you.

"Papa-" "Don't. I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses out of your mouth. How dare you betray this family." He snarls, and that makes you snap.

"Family? What family Papa? We haven't been a family in years! You don't even remember my birthday, much less what I like! When Lewis started to win, you forgot about me, and now you want to act like we're some perfect family!" You yell, everyone watching.

Max takes a couple steps forward, but Christian and Checo stop him letting you finally stand up to your father.

"You're my daughter! And your fucking the enemy!" Toto roars as you just stare at him in disbelief.

"Hey, that's enough!" Max yells, but you grab his arm, stopping him as you finally look your father in the eye.

"He's not the enemy Papa. He's the man who loves me! Who remembers my birthday? Who was there for my high school AND college graduation? By the way, you said you were too busy to even come too, no more likely you forgot and made up an excuse. He's the man I love and would marry and spend the rest of my life with because he's always there for me when you never were. He showed me how I should be treated when all you did was lie and forget about my existence." You scream

Strong arms wrap around you as you turn into your boyfriend's chest, sobbing as he holds you close. You hear people shouting and Christian kicking your father out and slamming the garage door.

"I've got you, okay? I love you." Max whispers, trying his hardest to calm you down.

"Don't leave me." You whisper, making Max's arms crush you as he whispers soft Dutch words promising never to leave you.

He wasn't the enemy of your story; he was the Prince Charming.

"Come on, let's go to the motor home," Christian whispers to the both of you as the guys move quickly to get everyone away as you bolt for the motor home.

Christian stops you both at the door and smiles. "You're our family." He smiles, making fresh tears appear as you move to hug the Red Bull principal.

"Thank you for everything." You whisper, glad to have found this family.

3K notes · View notes

chaussetteblanche · 9 months

Note

I had this idea in my head for a while; With Kit Connor x gf reader, where she comforts him when he was pressured to come out

thank you <3

pairing : kit connor x reader summary : you are by kit's side as he deals with being forced to come out word count : 900 words warnings : swearing

note : the fact that some so-called "fans" watched the show and had the nerve of accusing him of queer-baiting and pressured into coming out when he was only eighteen is just disgusting to me, check yourselves y'all

You'd been dating Connor for a while. Being an actor, you'd met at some party he had attended with the Heartstopper cast. You'd met Yasmin first, and had immediately hit it off. She was unbelievably funny and down-to-earth. She had introduced you to the rest of the cast, and, naturally, you'd been drawn to Kit. You had exchanged numbers through shy smiles and shaky hands, the rest was history.

Dating someone in the acting world was both a blessing and a curse. As an actor, Kit understood and could relate to your struggles with roles, management, fame, social media... just the industry in general. You bonded over similar experiences as bisexuals who could pass as straight and who didn't always bother with labels or clarifying their sexualities. But as an actor, he was also often on the move, filming thousands of kilometres away from you or in a different time zone altogether.

But even with all this, being with Kit was easy. You both clicked, you just worked. You communicated your feelings and needs and even though you'd had your fair share of arguments, you loved him more than anything. He made you and your life so much better.

So you can imagine that when people he started being accused of queer-baiting and being pressured by people who missed the meaning of the show entirely to come out, you didn't take it well. You loved Kit with all your heart and would tear the world to pieces just for him.

"I just can't believe these people! How dare they? How can they just- sit there and demand this of you!" you'd ranted one night. "You're eighteen for Pete's sake! You don't owe them or anyone anything! Fucking cunts, it's just ridiculous that they think so!" Kit watched you from where he was sitting on the couch, running a hand over his face. You sigh, licking your lips as you trudged over to him. "I'm sorry," you speak softly, standing in between his legs. He looks up at you, shaking his head. "You've got nothin' for apologize for, luv," "But I shouldn't go off like this, it's not fair to you, this negative energy..."

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. Your hand immediately goes to his hair, gently scratching his scalp as the other wounds itself around his shoulders. "I would make them vanish off the face of the Earth if I could, I swear, I-" "You did all you could, my love, it's already more than enough." He meant the countless posts you'd made concerning his situation as well as other actors', speaking up on the issue in many interviews... He was right, you'd done everything in your power. But it still wasn't enough. And it was killing you.

"But it's not, though. They just won't stop! Where is their bloody decency? And you don't deserve this, any of this. It's so unfair." "I know," He lifted his head up to look at you. Your hand cupped his jaw before you kissed him deeply. "I can take it," he assured against your lips. You pulled away, frowning. "But you shouldn't have to. It's so unfair. I wish we could just shut them all up, tell them to fuck off." "But you've done that already, haven't you?" he chuckled. "Yes, but clearly the message didn't get through." He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. "Stop worrying about me. I'll take care of it." "What will you do?" "I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out."You'd seen the tweet before you'd seen him. He was supposed to come over to your place for Halloween, you were planning on attending a party together, dressed as Shaggy and Velma. You were halfway through getting ready. You had your outfit on and were just getting started on your makeup when your phone started blowing up. Confused, you picked it up, seeing Kit's tweet everywhere. You slapped a hand over your mouth, scrolling down Twitter. Even though you were furious at the people who had brought him to this, you couldn't help but feel proud of him for taking control of the situation and coming out on "his own terms", if they could be qualified as such.

Your doorbell rings and you all but run to open the door. Outside stands Kit, looking absolutely beaten. You bite your lip, eyebrows furrowing. "I just saw," you breathe. He walks in and pulls you into a big hug, sighing shakily into your hair. You rub his back. "Oh, baby," you coo, "I'm so sorry, you don't deserve any of this,"

You usher him to your couch, closing the door and start making some tea. You set both your cups down on the coffee table, sitting down next to him. You take his hands in yours, caressing his knuckles. "How do you feel?" "I- I'm just disappointed, I guess. I thought people, especially after watching the show, would be more understanding, empathetic... just- more human, I guess." "Yeah, people are disappointing." "But I wanted to be the one to say you, you know? I didn't want that taken away from me, I didn't want to be outed." "And you were totally right, you took control of the situation and I'm so proud of you. You changed the narrative." He gave you a small smile.

Kit laid his face in your lap, hugging your thighs. "It still sucks, though," he spoke, voice muffled. You nodded, running a comforting hand up and down his back. "Yeah, it sucks. Do you wanna stay here tonight and watch some scary movies?" "Yes, please."

#kit connor x reader #kit connor #kit connor x you

412 notes · View notes

atticsandwich · 9 months

Text

burnt toast, sunday

pairing: mephistopheles / gn!mc

slice of life, bonding with mephisto's younger brother, mephisto being a boyfail (endearingly) but he's also a really good older brother

"Don't you have royal babysitters for this kind of thing?"

"Yes and no, but I'd rather have someone I trust to look after my precious little brother."

"So you trust me?"

"Wh...?! Only because Lord Diavolo does!"

or: a babysitting favor-turned-impromptu sleepover party, accidental wingman-er, wingdemon little brother, and poor Mephisto having an internal crisis

[set in the OG timeline, pre-NB]

quick a/n: i cannot for the life of me think of a name for mephisto's brother, so watch how many variations of "little brother" i can use before u get sick of it <3 i like to picture him kinda like a Luke-sized version of Mephisto lol

a/n part 2: erm. i might've accidentally made this a full-fledged fic instead of a quick little drabble help

"So let me get this straight," you start, trying to process what the noble demon before you just proposed.

"You want me to babysit your little brother this weekend, because..."

"--Because I need to attend an event, and I have no one else to turn to but you, yes, that's the gist of it," he finishes, both arms on his hip as if he's recounted this to you 5 times over.

(He has.)

"What about your parents?" you inquire.

Sighing, he returns to his seat across from you, like the thought of them gave him a headache.

"Off to who-knows-where in an exclusive excursion. Last time I called they were somehow in Santorini."

"In the Human Realm?!"

"If you're wondering if there are any more demons masquerading as humans up there, no, there aren't. They'd need permission from Lord Diavolo first lest they get hunted down by Barbatos."

"Oh. That's assuring."

"It's a bad look for the Devildom if we leave our denizens unattended. Anyways, back to the topic at hand--"

"Don't you have, like, royal babysitters for that kind of thing?" you interject. "Like, you know, a personal butler?"

"Yes, and no," another sigh escapes him.

"While we do have butlers, they're more for tending to the estate. Plus, I doubt they could tend to my little brother's pasttime interests. I could very well simply hire a royal babysitter, as you would call it, but I'd rather have someone I trust look after my precious brother."

"So... you trust me?" you try to stop yourself from giving him a smug grin, but the chance was too perfect to miss.

"Wh...?! D-Don't twist my words, human! I only say that because Lord Diavolo does!" his face is flushed in embarrassment, clearly taken aback by the quip. He diverts his face away from looking at you, instead suddenly finding the Newspaper Clubroom's accent wall of interest.

Classic.

"Plus, considering your background experience with those brothers, I'd say you're more than qualified for the job."

You hold back from giggling - which he picks up on - much to his annoyance. But you find yourself curious about his home and his brother, who he's mentioned in many separate occasions. You have to admit, you'd also like to meet what kind of brother Mephisto has.

"Alright, I'll do it," you finally say, standing from your seat, fully decided.

"Wh-Really? Oh. Good. Perfect," he tries hiding the way his shoulders relax from stiffness, clearly relieved you finally agreed.

"...On one condition, though."

"Hm? Name your price."

"Ask me again, but this time, say 'pretty please?'"

(And if the students outside that room jumped from the doors suddenly bursting open, with a red-faced demon chasing a laughing human around, cane in hand, well, they'll just chalk it up as another normal day at R.A.D.)

"Whad'ya mean you won't be home the whole weekend?!" Mammon's whines fall on deaf ears as he watches you pack your overnight bag. You've already told him about the arrangement a few days prior, but it seems the information just processed now.

"It's not like I'm moving away, Mams."

"But what if you fall in love with his house and decide to stay there forever?!" he whines more, as you let out an amused giggle.

"I'll get you a little souvenir when I get back, okay? We can hang out then."

"Promise?"

"Promise. You won't even notice I'm gone!" you zip up your bag, finishing up your pack. As you do, a knock on your door grabs the attention of both of you.

"Yeah?"

"Um..." the door creaks open, revealing a groggy, half-awake Belphegor. "There's a guy waiting for you outside, I think he's one of Mephistopheles' drivers."

Giving the youngest demon a thumbs up, you stand, slinging your overnight bag on your shoulder. It's not too heavy, and after double checking if everything's in order, you make your way out of your room.

"Ride's here! See ya later Mams! Thanks Belphie!"

You walk past some of the brothers on your way out, bidding your goodbyes as you do, although not before taking a little extra bag full of snacks that Beel insisted you bring with you. Upon reaching the house's front gate, you're greeted by a tall demon, clad in formal wear. He introduces himself as your designated driver sent by Mephisto, and ushers you in the vehicle after you return the introduction.

The ride to Mephisto's estate is quiet, and you occupy your time by scrolling through your D.D.D, updating Lucifer that you just left the house, as he had to leave earlier to finish R.A.D-related paperwork. You also send updates in your group chat with the brothers, as well as the guys from Purgatory Hall - who insisted on getting updates, too.

Before long, the car pulls up to a giant, gilded gate - extravagant feels like an understatement, you think, the intricacy of its details almost reminding you of classic gothic architecture from the Human Realm. The mansion itself isn't something to scoff at either; you already knew Mephisto's family was filthy, stinkin' rich - Mammon's words, not yours - but seeing it yourself is an entirely different story.

The car slows down to a halt, stopping at the manor's front entrance. The driver quickly exits the vehicle to usher you out, before driving off to a separate part of the estate. Mephistopheles is standing by the front door, already dressed up for the event he mentioned.

"Lookin' good, Mephisto! That coat looks great on you," you tease and wave a greeting.

"You've arrived. I trust the drive was pleasant?" rolling his eyes, he pretends not to hear anything you just said.

"Definitely beats walking to here, that's for sure," you say as he opens the door for you, beckoning you inside

"Someone's being a gentleman today!"

"Tch," he furrows his brows in annoyance. "Only because you're a guest, so don't get used to it," You can't help but giggle at the treatment, saying a quick thanks as you walk in.

His manor is huge - the large, open foyer that greets you the second you step in is embellished in gold and marble pillars, with a chandelier befitting its grandeur. A portrait of two demons is its centerpiece, who you can assume are his parents. He leads you through an arched entryway leading to the living room, decorated with a large ornate rug and furniture that looks like it got taken directly from a rococo painting - not to mention the actual rococo-style paintings hanging on its walls.

"As you can tell, this is the living room," he pauses for a bit before continuing. "Although we only really use it if my parents have guests over. Even then, they prefer having tea at the backyard."

"Dude, your house is like, a museum," words fail your thoughts.

"Don't be ridiculous, you've been to the Demon Lord's castle plenty of times for you to still be ogling at some gilded furniture."

"Yeah, but he's like - the prince - and I already expected that anyway since the word castle is in the name, y'know?"

He rolls his eyes, continuing the mini-tour.

"Past that hall is the kitchen, and the dining hall is opposite of it," he points out. "Don't worry about food, though. I've already informed the butlers of your staying. They'll call when food is ready. You can ask tea from them at any time, as well."

"Aw, really? I kinda wanted to try cooking at a fancy mansion..."

"Don't you already do enough cooking at the House of Lamentation?"

"Yeah, but I rather enjoy it - plus, my baking skills are a bonafide way to make any kid like me! Or at least, that's what Luke says..."

He rolls his eyes again, before sighing in resignation. "Knock yourself out then, I'll let the butlers know. They'll inform you where everything is if you ask."

"Heh, thanks Meph." he grimaces at the even-shortened nickname, but lets it slide anyways.

"For the main point of you staying here, my brother's room is upstairs," he leads you to a set of staircases at the end of the living room leading to a large hallway at the second floor. "Follow me to his room - I've made arrangements so the room next to his can be your quarters. There's an en suite bathroom, so you don't need to worry about that."

"Thanks, you've really thought of everything, huh?" he rolls his eyes again, but doesn't retort.

"My brother's quite shy, so it might take some time and a bit of coercion for him to warm up to you. He's never really had a proper babysitter before," he pauses, stopping at one of the doors, before giving a firm knock.

A soft "come in" can be heard from the inside, as Mephisto and you enter the room. The room itself is quite different from the overall feel of the mansion - it's a lot more casual and comfortable. It's still quite large, with a seating area and a multiple bookshelves, leading to a large bed. You see a young demon seated in a sofa, book in hand, as he stands to greet his brother. He's about the same size as Luke, although unmistakably of the same blood as Mephisto - similarly colored well-kept hair, green eyes... yeah this demon is definitely his brother.

"Big brother!" he greets enthusiastically. Just from that, you can tell how close they are. "-- and... um..."

"Hello there," you give the smaller demon a wave and your warmest smile. Embarrassed, he hides his face behind the book he's holding.

"No need to be shy, this is, er, my friend from RAD who I mentioned will be looking after you while I'm away," he explains. The younger demon peers at you from his book, before nodding to his brother.

"Hello..." he's too cute, you think, almost wanting to squeeze the life out of the boy. He continues looking at you, until it looks like something clicks in his head.

"Big brother, are they the human you keep telling me about?"

Oh? You had to stop yourself from spitting out a noise in surprise, although turning to Mephisto, who's suddenly beet-red from what his brother said, didn't help your cause, and unfortunately, just made you want to let out a louder laugh. His younger brother's eyes just sparkle even more.

"It is you! Big brother's told me about you before! You're even prettier in real life!" his enthusiasm is cut short when Mephisto covers his mouth to keep him from saying anything else, although he's conveniently looking everywhere but at you. For now, you spare him mercy and lean down to his younger brother's height.

"That's nice of you to say," you smile, Mephisto's hand finally releasing his brother's mouth. "Your big brother has also told me about how much of a wonderful little brother you are."

He's embarrassed again, returning to hiding his face behind his book. The moment is interrupted, however, when Mephisto's D.D.D starts beeping an alarm, and, upon seeing the time on the screen, turns it off and nods to the two of you.

"Ah, that means I must take my leave. I'll leave you to it then - and uh," he turns, looking at his younger brother. "Please don't embarrass your big brother..." he half-whispers to him, although you hear it quite clearly. "Give me a call if anything happens. I should be back by lunchtime tomorrow."

"See ya, Mephisto!"

"Take care, big brother!"

Looking after Mephisto's younger brother is a delight, you think. Although the demon was indeed, pretty shy at first, the moment he saw your Ruri-Hana keychain dangling from your D.D.D - gifted to you by Levi - his eyes started sparkling and all the icebreaker meekness got thrown out the window.

"I-I love Ruri-Hana! I watch all her shows!"

"Why don't we have a little watch party tonight? I'll bake some themed cookies, too!"

"R-Really? You'd do that?" his voice is clearly quivering from excitement at the prospect. You giggle and pat his head in response.

"Absolutely! If you want, you can help, too!"

The elated smile he gives in response is bright, and he pulls you across his room to show you the little corner where he keeps all his memorabilia. His enthusiasm is endearing, and you can't help but feel a sense of older-sibling duty, not too dissimilar as what you feel with Luke.

"Wow! That's a figure of that one time she dressed up as Santa-Devil for a Devilmas special!" all the bingewatching with Levi finally paid off, as you silently thank the third-born in your head for getting you into the franchise as well.

For a while he shows you his collection, until you have an idea and pull out your D.D.D. You show him pictures of a recent convention you went to with Levi, and all the pictures you took with Ruri-Hana franchise cosplayers. His eyes light up at each one, excitedly naming each character. Not long after, a butler knocks on the room, informing the both of you that lunch was to be served.

The dining hall, despite only having you and Mephisto's younger brother, is filled with chatter as you both eat. You learn that he also reads a ton of books, a sentiment that you share. He tells you his favorites, and expresses interest on reading Human Realm literature. You promise to bring over some the next time you're over, which excites the little demon.

After lunch, you start prepping for baking, and after being given a quick kitchen tour by a butler, you work on laying out everything you need. Mephisto's brother is on the other side of the counter on a step stool, so he can see the countertop, pencil and paper in hand, drawing cookie shape ideas to fit the theme.

By the time you both finish cutting and carving off shapes for the dough, it's already late afternoon and the butler comes by to offer you both tea and some light snacks. The younger demon suggests a tea break in the garden, and you go along with his suggestion. He leads you outside through a hallway past the kitchen, and you're greeted by a large expanse of lush flora, and even further, you spot a large clearing where multiple Devildom horses are grazing.

"That midnight one over there is the fastest, he's my big brother's favorite!" he points out, and you spot the horse in question. It's a gorgeous stallion, its fur seemingly glittering under the Devildom moon.

"I have a horse of my own too, but big brother says I'm still too young to race..."

"I'm sure you'll be at it soon!" you assure him. "I don't know much about horseback riding though, so you'll have to show me the ropes when the time comes."

"Oh! Maybe big brother can teach you! Then you'll be able to ride horses, too!"

You lightly laugh at his enthusiasm at the topic, although the image of Mephisto helping you on a saddle flashes in your mind. You hurriedly swallow down the thought - and the slight fluster - with some tea, before you can dwell too much on it.

"I doubt your brother likes me enough to teach me," you lightheartedly joke. The furrow in the young demon's brow slightly surprises you though, as he turns to face you.

"That's not true! Big brother likes you a lot!"

"He... does?" He does?

"Yeah! He's a bit weird about it sometimes, though. He says he's impressed by you and how you reign around the demon brothers, but then he'll also say how much he wants to squeeze the 'life out of your pretty face!'"

"Ah..." your cheeks are quickly turning red, but you try to shake off the imagery. You take another sip of tea to try calm your beating heart down.

"I don't know what he meant by that, though. I don't want him to crush your face!"

His childlike naivete reminds you of Luke, causing you to laugh. "Don't worry, I'm sure he didn't mean it literally," you assure him. You pause, in thought for a second. "So... what else has he said about me?"

"O-Oh! He says that you're such a hard worker. He's told me that not only are you a student council member, you're also a sorcerer's apprentice! That must be hard..."

"Well, it is, but I manage. I do enjoy being in the Devildom, after all."

"He...uh, he says he hopes you're getting enough rest though," the younger demon's voice pauses, a bit hesitant to continue, which you pick up on.

"Hm?" Interesting. "What do you mean?"

"Uh, um... sometimes he'll complain about finding you asleep around school and that now he has to make sure no one disturbs you... so he-ah--! I think I've said too much! Please don't let big brother know I told you!"

You're thankful he's hiding his face in shame because you're pretty sure your own face is also red from being flustered. In your head you're already teasing Mephisto with this information, but you can't deny that your heart fluttered upon learning he's been watching over you all this time - how typical of him, you think.

"How about I tell you a little secret too? Just between us," you offer, calming him down.

"Um... okay, I'm listening," his eyes are focused on you now, clearly all-ears in anticipation.

"I really like your big brother, too."

"R-Really?! You do?"

You nod your head in assurance. "Promise not to tell him though?"

"Yeah! I promise!"

"Alright then. How about you help me make the icing for the cookies now so we can decorate immediately after dinner?"

Before he can respond, however, your D.D.D. starts ringing from where you put it on the table. Looking at the caller I.D., you can't help but breathe out a little giggle. Speak of the devil.

"Meph? What's up?"

"I'm just checking in to see how everything's going. There hasn't been any problems, has there?"

"I-Is that big brother? I wanna talk to him!" again, this kid's enthusiasm is endearing.

"Here, why don't you talk to your brother?"

To say he's been restless the entire event is an understatement - Mephisto has been fidgeting and pacing back and forth the entire time. It's not that he doesn't trust the human to look after his beloved sibling, no, it's the dawning realization that his brother might start saying things. Suddenly, the countless R.A.D. stories he's told him that involved you became embarrassment fuel. He's tried distracting himself by socializing with the other nobles in the grounds, however all the attempts have been proven futile. Glugging down demonus didn't seem to be working either, having to be cautious that he wasn't drinking too much.

Checking the time, he infers that it should be fine to give a call - just to make sure, he assures himself, scrolling his contacts list until he spots your name.

Just one call, Mephistopheles, don't overthink it!

A few rings later, you pick up, and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

"Meph? What's up?"

"I'm just checking in to see how everything's going. There hasn't been any problems, has there?" he's fidgeting the cuff of his sleeves, still restless.

"Is....brother? I wanna....talk....!" he recognizes the voice in the background as his little brother, although talk about poor reception - he'll need to speak with the venue coordinator later.

"Here... don't.... talk.... brother?" the reception sounds like it's getting worse, which is not helping his nerves at all - he can't decipher what either of you are trying to say.

"Brother.... help.... icing.... decorate.... watch.... bad guys....."

"H-Hello? Are you still there? Hey! What do you mean help?!" he's frantic now, trying not to jump to any conclusions - in any case though, he definitely heard his little brother say help and bad guys before the line got cut off from the poor reception... Right?

So like any responsible big brother would, he apologizes to the event host, citing an emergency, and hurriedly calls for his chauffeur to get him home as soon as possible.

"Hm? That's weird, the line got cut off..." you both stare at your phone screen, wondering what happened.

"Oh...."

"Don't worry," you try conforting the younger demon. "I'm sure he just had some business to attend to. Let's try calling him again later, yeah?"

"Okay! I wanna tell him about the Ruri-Hana cookies....!"

"Let's go prepare the icing then!"

Nodding, he excitedly gets up from his seat, taking your hand as he hurriedly leads you back to the kitchen. Upon arriving, you both immediately get to work, and he picks out food coloring combinations while you mix up the icing base, dividing it into multiple bowls. He's at first worried that there wouldn't be enough colors, until you remind him that he can mix for new ones, and he's back to excitedly listing down which colors correspond to which bowl.

You both finish prepping everything just in time for dinner; the little demon scarfing down his meal as fast as he could - almost reminding you of a certain ginger demon - and you laugh as you try to match his pace. Before long you're both back in the kitchen, watching the first batch of cookies turn a nice golden color before pulling them out of the oven to cool. You explain to him that the cookies need to rest first before decorating, and he resists the urge to take one cookie as a trial piece. Endeared, you give in and tell him he can get one cookie - as a treat for being such a good helper, you say.

"It's already so good!" he exclaims.

"Heh, I bake a lot with the brothers back at home, so I'm glad you like it!"

"I'm serious! These might be the best cookies ever! I can't wait to decorate!" you swear that if he wasn't restraining himself, he would've been bouncing up and down in excitement. To satiate his energy, you ask him to start preparing the Ruri-Hana CDs in his room, so the watch party can immediately proceed once the cookies are ready. He happily obliges, rushing off upstairs.

Giggling, you take out your D.D.D to pass the time while waiting. Recalling Mephisto's call earlier, you decide to contact him to give an update, as his call from a while ago got cut off. Surpisingly, he answers the moment the call beeps.

"Hello?! Is everything alright there?! Don't worry, I'm by the gates now so-"

"Uh... Mephisto? Are you okay?" he sounds panicked and in a rush, much to your confusion.

"Wh-?! The call earlier, I heard something about a bad guy and needing help?!"

Ah, it immediately clicks for you.

"By any chance, did we get cut off because of bad reception?"

"Well... uh... yeah?"

"Mephisto," you stifle a laugh, but can't help but let it out. The demon on the other side of the line sounds bewildered, urging for clarification. "I think you misheard what your little brother said, and jumped to conclusions."

The line is silent, almost eerily so. You try to stifle another laugh, to no avail.

"Meph, you do realize I'm a capable sorcerer and have seven demons on my beck and call if anything bad were to happen, right?"

"Listen--"

"Please don't tell me you panicked and left your event early."

"Don't rub it in!"

"Well... at least you're in time to help us decorate cookies?"

"Shut up."

You laugh again at the absurdity of the situation as he hangs up, just in time for his younger brother to come trotting down the stairs.

"The CDs are all ready! Can we decorate now?" his pleads, eyes sparkling.

"We can, but I think we have a surprise guest. Why don't we meet him out front?"

"Huh? Who else is coming?"

"You'll see. Come on!"

By the time the two of you reach the foyer, the front door is already opening, revealing a disheveled, clearly drained Mephistopheles. You stop yourself from laughing, again, while the younger demon next to you jumps in surprise.

"Big brother! You're back early!" he runs up to him to greet him into a hug, which Mephisto reciprocates, giving him a pat on the head, as well.

"Yes, yes. I was, uh... able to leave early due to some--" he turns his gaze at you, furrowing his brows, flustered. You let out a small huff of air, looking away. "--circumstance. I trust your day was well, my dear brother?"

The younger demon gives a vigorous nod of excitement. "The best! I love my babysitter, big brother! They're the coolest!"

"Really, now?" he raises a brow in interest, urging his brother to continue.

"Yeah, we were just about to decorate cookies for our Ruri-Hana watch party... Oh! You should come help us decorate, big brother!" he doesn't even let the elder respond, already dragging him towards the kitchen. You follow suit, entertained by the two brothers. Mephisto looks behind towards you, casting a questioning glance, and all you do is mouth you'll see.

At the kitchen, Mephisto is given a quick crash course by his little brother about which colors to use, and what to decorate, pulling out the drawings he did from a while ago. Being the doting older brother that he is, he can't say no, and instead tries to follow the instructions he's being given. You transfer the separated icing mixtures into piping bags and show the two brothers the trick to get icing out evenly with even pressure and a steady hand, and despite some mishaps - mostly on Mephisto's part - you finish decorating every cookie, now having a gorgeous Ruri-Hana themed spread. You make sure to take a quick photo to send to Levi later.

"My work here is done then," you proclaim, dusting off bits of flour from your arms. "I'm guessing you'll want me gone now since you came back early...?" you turn to Mephisto, waiting for a quip from him.

"Wha- No...!" his younger sibling is immediately at your side, grabbing ahold of your shirt. "You can't leave yet! We were gonna watch Ruri-Hana!" his voice cracks.

"Big brother, you won't let them leave yet, right...?" he gives Mephisto a pleading look. You glance at him as well, and he catches your gaze. Flustered, he looks away, huffing.

"W-Well... I suppose you already did make plans, so..."

"Did you hear that? You can stay...!" he jumps in excitement, still grabbing onto you. "You can watch with us, big brother! We'll tell you all about the show!"

"And he did help with cookies," you add.

You can tell he initially wanted to decline the offer, but one look at his brother's expectant eyes crumbles him down immediately, sighing in resignation.

"F-Fine. You can leave the cookies here, I'll bring them up after I change."

Giggling, the younger demon proceeds to urge you quickly up to his room, where the watch party is set up. You suggest building a pillow fort while waiting for Mephisto, and if you thought the little demon couldn't get even more excited, you were mistaken. He's immediately onboard the idea, taking all the blankets and sheets off his massive bed. You quickly stop by to what was supposed to be your room to grab additional pillows and blankets, bringing it back to the other room.

The fort is a little rough around the edges and haphazard, but the younger demon doesn't seem to care, smile never seeming to go down. Mephisto enters the room a little while later, tray of cookies in hand, looking more casual than usual.

"I've brought the cooki-- Er, what are you two doing?"

"Big brother, look! We made a pillow fort! We can watch Ruri-Hana even better now!"

"A... fort? I fail to see any sort of resemblance..."

"Just get in here," you urge him, taking the tray off of his hands, setting it at the center. Mephisto's brother has already found his spot near the side, hugging a large Azuki-tan plush close to himself.

"Oh! You can sit next to me! That way, I can tell you all my favorite parts! And big brother can sit next you!" he suggests. You comply, trying not to think much about the seating placement, or if the little devil had ulterior motives. After taking your place, Mephisto is still standing outside the fort, seemingly in conflict with himself, staring at the empty space next to you. You pat the spot with your hand, inviting him in. You hear him groan in contempt, mumbling an "I guess that works" to himself as he sits next to you. You giggle at his resignation, and he casts you a glare, although you could tell it had no bite.

The watch party starts off without a hitch - you and Mephisto's little brother gleefully react at all the exciting scenes, as if you've never seen the show before. Mephisto seemed confused half the time, although it's clear he was entertained enough to stay. You humour him every now and then by explaining some of the finer details, and he's surprisingly very attentive. It's not long before he brings his own commentary on the table on certain scenes, prompting discussions and lighthearted debates between the three of you.

Hours and a whole tray of cookies later, the younger demon next to you has drifted off to sleep, curling himself in, Azuki-tan plush by his side. Mephisto, although initially wanting to transfer him to his bed, eventually gives in to let him continue sleeping as is - it's a pillow fort, nothing's more cofortable! - you assure the usually snarky demon, who sighs in defeat.

"He's a really sweet kid," you tell him, placing a blanket over the young demon, who snuggles in comfortably. "--very much unlike his big brother," you add, teasing him.

"He's nice enough for the both of us," his reply is sarcastic, rolling his eyes in addition as a response. "But yes, he's the best brother I could ask for."

"Hah, just now, you kinda sounded like Lucifer when he gets drunk--"

"Do not compare me to that arrogant, self-absorbed, goat-horned jerk."

"Oh, that's a new one. I'll have to use that sometime," you laugh quietly, careful not to disturb your snoozing fortmate. You notice him trying to stifle his own laugh, more amused than he lets on.

A welcomed silence envelops the room, the lowered volume of a Ruri-Hana episode still playing in the background. You can't help but stare at his screen-illuminated face, engrossed in a fight scene between Ruri-chan and the epsiode's focused monster. It's not long before he catches you staring, however, but instead of a sneering quip, he instead gets flustered and turns his head back at the screen.

"So... uh," he starts, still trying to find what he wants to say, although his eyes are still glued to the screen, albeit unfocused.

"For... today. Thanks."

"If it's for looking after your brother, there's no need to thank me. It was fun."

"No, not only that. In truth, I was worried he wouldn't open up to you, and, well..." he breathes in, finally turning to face you. "I didn't like the idea of you two not getting along, I guess."

"Hey, I already told you, kids love me! ...I think," you say. It's light, but you hear a semblance of a laugh escaping him. "Plus, I got to learn a little bit more about you, too!"

"Hm? Like what?"

"Well... I got to meet your favorite horse - he's really pretty, by the way."

"Ah, so you've met Faust. Yes, he is a stunner, befitting only of someone such as myself," he huffs in pride.

"Speaking of, you should totally teach me how to horseback. Your little brother kinda got me intrigued."

He pauses for a moment, as if in thought. "I suppose that's not an... unfavorable idea. I'll consider it."

You're a little surprised, not expecting him to agree, but at the same time, you realize it was his own way of attempting to get closer to you. Recalling what his little brother said that afternoon, you decide to push your luck a little bit further.

"I uh... also learned that despite how you act, you're always looking out for me," it's your turn to avert your gaze, thankful that the room's dimness was enough to hide the pink tinge on your cheeks.

"Wha-ugh... He told you, didn't he..." the giggle you let out in response is light, almost inaudible with the show's ending song playing in the background.

"I think it's quite endearing," you assure him. "I mean, the brothers already try their best to make sure I'm always safe, so knowing you go out of your way to do so too, regardless... It's a nice feeling. Thanks, Mephisto."

"Y-Yeah..."

Silence envelops the two of you again, this time completely, as the screen in front of you fades to black, signifying the episode's end. Carefully, you shuffle yourself a little closer to him, and you take it as an invitation to go further when all he does is look at you quietly.

Wordlessly, you lean your head against his shoulder, softly breathing in the remnants of his perfume from earlier in the day; a comforting scent compounded with Mephisto's natural one. He stiffens at your action, but almost immediately relaxes himself, his hand finding yours under the sheets. His hand is chilly, you think, the demon obviously nervous, but you urge him to continue by letting out a gentle hum of assurance and giving his hand a quick squeeze.

"Hey, Meph?" you whisper, leaning yourself closer to him.

"Hm?" you can feel his head turn to look down on yours.

"I like you."

"Ah... I--" he's breathless, despite already seeing the confession coming. He's thankful the darkness is hiding his extremely flushed face, but he's unsure if you can hear how loud his heart is beating.

"I like you too."

You giggle lightly, squeezing his hand again, this time, a bit warmer. You feel him squeeze back, as you feel yourself starting to drift off to sleep.

"I know."

You're unaware of it, but as he hears your breathing relax and as your body naturally leans a bit more towards him, he's smiling at your form softly, planting a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Sleep tight."

Devilgram, the next morning

@ minimephisto : [img attached of you and mephisto sleeping, your head leaning against his chest, his head rested atop yours] my big brother and my favorite babysitter are so cute together! ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♡

see all replies (20)

mammoney : hey! what the hell! get that bastard away from my human!

lucifer : language, mammon. mephistopheles, i will deal with you myself.

asmobaby : awwww! look at those lovebirds ♡

stn : you're not helping, asmo

thank you for reading! my asks are also open if anyone would like to request something. ofc, there's no guarantee that i'll do it (haha) but i'd love to hear suggestions :>

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me mephistopheles #mephistopheles x reader #obey me fanfic #obswd #obey me mephisto #obey me x mc

387 notes · View notes

sysmedsaresexist · 1 year

Text

I've heard one of my posts is causing waves

Here's some more things that are normal in DID/OSDD systems, and some weird myths, in no particular order

- Not realizing you're a system until later is normal (average age of system discovery is 18-21)

- It's rare for children to display distinct alters (not impossible, just a rare occurrence in a rare disorder (based on numbers, it's considered rare, yes), alters tend to form in mid-teens)

- Feeling as though you "created" an alter is normal (related to unconscious feelings of control over an uncontrollable situation, and/or tricking yourself into an explanation, also, if you have a need to be filled, the brain WILL provide)

- "mixed origin systems" are totally normal for DID/OSDD. I have a couple alters that could be considered "endogenic", but I'm really just... DID, with normal alters forming in normal ways

- Alters forming at any age/time is normal (you can form a brand new alter at fifty, after having undergone complete fusion, once the ability is there, it's always possible to split)

- Alters don't always appear immediately after a traumatic event (alters can take YEARS to come to front after forming, making it impossible to tie them to specific events unless THEY'RE aware of the connection)

- Alters can form from stress, not just trauma (and the brain is notoriously good at hiding how stressed you are from yourself)

- Comfort splits ARE normal in DID/OSDD

- The amnesia criteria in DID doesn't mean you need to experience amnesia day-to-day, you still have DID if you can't remember childhood events but have good communication now

- The dysfunction criteria is redundant and circular, where the symptoms themselves fulfill the criteria, and as per the DSM, doesn't imply any inherent need for treatment or distress-- so being happy, loving your system, feeling like your system helps you more than it hinders you, all normal (and good!) but still DID/OSDD

- OSDD 1a does not involve alters as they're known, but states or modes that influence you, and amnesia occurs during these periods of influence; OSDD 1b involves "emotional amnesia" only (which is just a stupid, fancy word for dissociation (an emotional disconnect from a memory) that doesn't actually exist in the medical world)

- You can have as many EPs and ANPs as you'd like. The majority of systems with OSDD feel as though the one ANP theory doesn't fit them, and there have recently been updates to theories to acknowledge this

- Integration is the lowering of dissociative barriers to allow for better communication between system members, and is absolutely necessary for functional multiplicity (fusion is the joining of two or more alters). These definitions come from the ISSTD, and it IS recognized by the ISSTD that integration and functional multiplicity are viable and attainable treatment goals. Keep this in mind when conversations about these topics come up-- if you can communicate clearly with alters, you're already well integrated. It's not scary, it's not bad, and no one can or will make you fuse.

- CPTSD, the basis of dissociative disorders and DID, presents very differently from PTSD -- mostly presenting as a negative view of the self and vigilance rather than the flashbacks and nightmares you'd see in PTSD (it's quite similar to BPD, but the view of the self is negative rather than unstable). If you resonate with some aspects of BPD and have a system, and you don't experience the "typical" presentation of PTSD, that's normal. That's CPTSD (complex PTSD, not chronic PTSD), maybe read up on it.

- You don't need to know your trauma to acknowledge that you have DID/OSDD, and no one should be pushing that you search for trauma. Who cares, move at your own pace, maybe you'll never figure it out, and that's perfectly fine. People who push others about their trauma will face my wrath.

- Trauma isn't an action, but a REACTION to an event. What traumatizes one person, may not have any effect on another person, and vice versa. This isn't about what might have happened to you, but how you felt about it. There is no Trauma Olympics, and people who play that way are ridiculous. Trauma reactions are personal and unique, and come from anything-- bullying, isolation and loneliness, abuse. And yes, other disorders can make you more susceptible to trauma reactions. Having autism or ADHD or BPD, EDs, psychosis, schizophrenia-- all of these create more opportunities for trauma reactions, and make someone more susceptible. That doesn't mean you're not trauma based. It doesn't mean those things caused your system. It means those things made it harder for you to navigate life and left you more susceptible to trauma. That's it.

- MADD is typically trauma based

There's so, so many more. Other DID/OSDD systems, feel free to add on, endogenic systems, ask if something is normal.

#syscourse #actuallyplural #actuallymultiple #actuallytraumagenic #actuallyosdd #actuallydid #osdd #did #endogenic #totally normal things

1K notes · View notes

pippytmi · 10 months

Note

spy!au + meet messy + you never saw me ? If not that's fine, I just thought it would be cool. :)

spy!au + meet messy + you never saw me

“So on a scale of 1-10, how much do we hate the fiancée?”

A wry laugh escapes before Kara can even try to quell it, and she briefly removes the unlit cigarette from her mouth to muse, “You know, I've heard a saying that goes ‘never judge a book by its cover.’ Fascinating stuff, I might have to send it to you.”

“Ugh. Journalists—so idealistic.” But Nia is grinning as she snags the barstool at Kara's right. “Where is the elusive Lena Luthor anyway? Do we finally get to meet her?”

Kara shrugs. “Beats me,” she says. “Last I heard, she was running late.”

“Late to her own engagement party? Finally, someone I can get along with,” Nia says. Before Kara can even get a word in, Nia's attention is immediately stolen by the bartender coming over. “Hey M’gann, can I get an amaretto sour?”

“Sure thing,” M’gann says absentmindedly, her gaze otherwise zeroing in firmly on Kara. “Danvers, you better not smoke in my bar.”

“I won't,” Kara swears, raising both hands in a show of innocence, and M'gann rolls her eyes.

“Journalists,” she echoes Nia's earlier sentiment, but with an entirely exasperated deeper meaning. “I'm putting Nia's drink on your tab.”

“Well in that case…” Nia twists around, already waving her hand as if to beckon someone over. “Make it two, Kara's buying a drink for the bride to be. Alex! Don't—I know you can see me, come here.”

For as much as Alex stressed the importance of everyone showing up tonight, she doesn't seem very…well, happy. And while Alex is not typically one to gush, Kara had expected at least a smidgen of joy on her sister's face, not the harried expression she's currently sporting.

“What?” Alex asks, eyes them both suspiciously while fidgeting as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Um, hello to you too,” Nia says. “Clearly, you need this. Where's your soon-to-be better half?”

Alex accepts the drink when Nia presses it in her hand but frowns, however slight, at the question. “She's—on her way,” she says, pausing to take a sip from her glass before her gaze falls on her sister. “Oh, gross, Kara. Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t!” Kara pouts, feeling like a broken record. “Can’t I be edgy and have a cigarette to look cool?”

“That’s the most pretentious thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Nia says, delighted, while Alex just groans.

“Come on, Kara, not tonight. Just be normal for once in your life,” Alex sighs, already distractedly glancing back to the front door like she is willing her fiancée to just walk through any second.

“You guys don’t understand the intricacies of being a method actor,” Kara argues, waving her cigarette in the air to make her point. (And also, because it is kind of awkward to keep it in her mouth without doing anything with it, not that she’ll admit that). But it’s clear she only has half the audience she had a second ago; Alex is half a world away the second her phone starts to ring.

“I’ll be back,” Alex says, handing off her glass to Nia who is more than happy to finish it.

Kara dejectedly puts the cigarette back in her mouth. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“I don’t actually know how to smoke. What if someone expects me to, like, smoke with them?”

Nia presses a fingertip to her chin and ponders the question seriously. “Either you're screwed, or they will just think you're a dork. The reaction will depend on the person, really.”

Kara's shoulders slump. “So I won't be cool?”

“Journalists generally aren't cool,” Nia unhelpfully offers. “But I'm sure you could make it work for you. You'd be like…one of those grizzly story-seeking sleuth journalists.”

Kara groans, thumping her forehead on the bartop. “That seems more like a private investigator thing,” she says. “Darn it. I'm going to have to start from scratch.”

“I'm all in favor of quitting method acting for one night,” M'gann chimes in, still eyeing Kara's cigarette distastefully. “Now do you need a refill or are you going to fall asleep here?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kara says, lifting her head in order to sheepishly push her emptied club soda over. “Pour me a double.”

That joke never lands—M'gann just rolls her eyes and refills the glass, wiping her hands off before moving down to another patron. Nia scoots her stool closer to Kara once she's gone to reassuringly say,

“I like the pretentious cigarette. It makes you look like a hipster…they’re coming back into fashion, you know. Just like leg warmers.”

Kara wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think anyone really liked leg warmers.”

“That’s how I know you were unfashionable in high school,” Nia says. Then, apparently already bored with the topic at hand, she turns around in search of their former company. “Hey, where did Alex go? I haven’t even bought her a round of shots yet!”

“That’s a good question,” Kara says thoughtfully. “Maybe Lena showed up?” But when she swivels her chair to aid Nia’s search, she can't spot her sister either; considering Al’s Bar is a hole in the wall with not many patrons, that can only mean Alex has stepped out. “I'll go find her.”

All things considered, the night is pleasant—when Kara emerges without her jacket, the air isn't quite cool enough to make her go back in to retrieve it. She walks around the corner to the alley where everyone goes to smoke, but Alex isn’t there. Alex is also not in the 7-11 across the street, nor is she two doors down at the diner. (Kara orders a donut to go just to be 100% sure Alex won’t emerge from somewhere inside, of course, like a diligent sister).

Eventually, her pointless search leads her right back to Al’s. Nia has apparently had enough alcohol to drag Kelly to dance; Winn and James have begun a spirited game of pool; Querl has commandeered the jukebox and is studiously adding 80’s dance music to the queue. Alex, however, is still notably missing.

With a groan, Kara collapses at the bar again. “Can I get a water, M’gann?”

“You got it,” M’gann says, filling a fresh glass from the tap. She moves on immediately after to another customer, and Kara’s question about whether M’gann has seen Alex dies before it even forms. Kara sighs, takes a much-needed sip of her water, and resolves to just melt into her stool when all of a sudden she hears:

“Is this seat taken?”

It should be noted that, in the past, Kara has encountered situations far worse than this one. Moments where her life was in danger, even. She likes to think she has mastered the ability to remain unfazed in the face of the worst surprises at this point of her career.

But then again…she’s never actually met her sister’s fiancée before. And in a truly horrific turn of events, Kara ends up spit-taking all over her shoes.

“Oh crap, I am so sorry,” Kara says, making a mad grab for napkins off the bar and crouching down to pat at Lena’s heels. “Are you—okay, can I get, er, anything—” She doesn't even know how to apologize at this point, so tongue-tied she is just about to offer her own shoes off her feet.

Lena Luthor doesn't answer right away. She takes a delicate step down, and her hand covers Kara's in order to make her pause. When Kara musters the nerve to cautiously meet her eye, Lena gives her a small smile.

“It's fine.” Lena looks much more <i>vivid</i> than the photographs. Everything about her is sharp; the angles of her jaw, the eyeliner she wears, the intensity of her green eyes when they're trained on Kara. Even her voice edges on the sharper side, not quite cold but almost. “Kara, right? I recognize you from Alex's pictures.”

Kara barely remembers to nod. “Yes, I…recognize you too,” she says. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Lena draws her hand away immediately after, and Kara hastily rises up in order to put some space between them.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Kara asks quickly. “M'gann makes a great…sour.” She cannot for the life of her remember what it is that Nia ordered, and from the strange look on Lena’s face, she has 100% gotten the name wrong. “I don’t really drink.”

Somehow, that awkward confession makes Lena’s face twist, like she is trying not to smile. “Alex mentioned you’re sober,” she says. “I hope it’s alright, that she did.”

“No, yeah, it’s not a secret,” Kara says, but in her mind she’s thinking Alex and Lena talk about her? About what? Hopefully not embarrassing stuff. Shoot, knowing Alex, it’s 100% embarrassing stuff. “And I wouldn’t expect you to have any secrets with Alex either way, so.”

“Right.” Lena takes a careful seat besides Kara, her expression since gone entirely blank. She orders a scotch, Kara sticks to water, and they immediately maintain an awkward silence that M'gann raises a judgmental eyebrow at Kara for.

Kara clears her throat, desperate for any attempt of making nice she can muster. “So have you seen Alex?” she says.

“Today?” Lena has her glass raised to her lips, but she doesn't drink. “Not yet.”

“Oh. Well, I'm sure she's around here somewhere,” Kara says, and tries not to find it weird that Lena and Alex did not see each other at all today despite apparently living together.

This time Lena takes a long, thoughtful sip of her drink, and she turns her head to regard Kara silently. “Kara,” she says, as if testing the name all-too-carefully, practiced and halting like she wants to call Kara literally anything else. “Would it be a fair assessment to assume you don't like me?”

Kara’s grip on her glass falters in a single blink-or-miss-it second before she manages to control her surprise. “What?” she says weakly. “I know we don’t know each other, but, if Alex likes you of course I like you.” Flustered, she backtracks to say, “I mean Alex loves you. Obviously.”

Lena doesn’t put Kara out of her misery. At least, not right away. No, she just smooths out the imaginary wrinkles of her form-fitting dress that she has chosen to wear to this dive bar, drums her fingertips against the sticky wood of the bar counter, and gazes pensively beyond her company in a way that can only be described as lost. Then,

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to be an accusation,” Lena says. “What I meant is, I'm sure you must despise the idea of me.” An attempt at a smile crosses Lena’s lips, but it’s a sad one. “Today was mostly about putting your mind at ease over any misconceptions you might have.”

“Well, I’ve only known about you for like a week, but I can honestly say I have zero thoughts about you,” Kara says quickly. Then frowns. “Wait. That was supposed to sound reassuring. Can I start over?”

The engagement ring on Lena’s finger shimmers even in the poor lighting, and she rests her cheek against her palm, gazing at Kara with a curious, half-amused kind of look in her eyes. “The floor’s yours.”

“I’m not the kind of person who assumes the worst about other people,” Kara says, reaching for her water again, if only to tip it towards Lena reassuringly before taking a quick sip. “And if you make Alex happy, then I can only assume you’re a good person. Also, you might be a saint to even put up with her.”

Lena’s mouth twists into a proper smile, however small. “The way you two talk about each other is so…” She shakes her head as if she can’t quite finish that thought. “You two are clearly very close.”

“Unfortunately, yeah, I'm stuck with her,” Kara quips, and that at least feels normal—talking about Alex is a safe topic. Even if she hasn’t bothered to come back to her own engagement party. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A brother.” Any semblance of a smile vanishes entirely at that, and Lena hastily finishes the remainder of her drink.

Kara gets the feeling she has said something horribly wrong. “And are you two also…close?” she finishes her train of thought awkwardly, even if she already knows the answer.

“No.” The stony way Lena clenches her jaw suggests that Kara isn't winning any brownie points, here, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from pushing on. “Excuse me, can I get another?” Lena beckons M’gann over when she has a second, and M’gann gives Kara another questioning look but doesn’t say anything to her directly.

“I’m sorry,” Kara feels the need to say. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oddly enough, I believe you,” Lena muses. “You did mention your sister has hardly talked about me.”

“I'm sure she would've,” Kara tries to reassure her. “I just don't see her too much nowadays, with my work.”

“Mm. You’re a journalist, right?” Lena asks, and there is something in her gaze that makes Kara feel hot under the collar. “Or was it a kindergarten teacher? I know you and your sister have an affinity for switching careers.” Something about the calculated way she pauses to take a sip of her drink, gaze expectant over the rim, causes Kara's heart to plummet into her stomach.

Kara, in turn, promptly chokes on air. “What? You—you know? About—” She stops. “I’m not sure Alex was allowed to tell you that.”

“Not even if we're going to get married?” Slowly, Lena begins to smile. It's a real smile, one Kara hadn't realized Lena was capable of until now. “Your sister might be the most by-the-book person I've ever met. Unfortunately for her, I was able to connect the dots about you myself.”

“Ah.” Kara drums her fingertips against the bar counter, feels her cheeks warm slightly with embarrassment.

Lena places a hand on Kara's forearm—a warm, gentle heat Kara can feel through the thin sleeve of her T-shirt. “That was no fault of yours,” she says reassuringly. “She slipped up talking about your job. It was fairly easy to connect the dots.”

Somehow, that does nothing to dissolve the dread slowly building up in Kara’s chest. Alex never slips up. Kara is the resident Danvers sister fuck up (Alex’s words exactly), and all at once Alex’s disappearance tonight becomes decidedly unsettling.

“When did she tell you about my job?” Kara blurts out. “Do you remember?”

“Yesterday, I think,” Lena says, and she regards Kara questioningly. “She was telling me about everyone who was going to be here today and what your friends do for work. Why?”

“Was she working? Looking at her computer or her phone or anything?”

“Yes, that’s all she ever does.” But it’s odd, the way Lena says it, like she’s not bothered in the slightest.

It could be nothing. It probably is nothing. But Kara still scans the bar with a renewed vigor in search of that familiar scowl that she cannot find. “She was just here,” Kara mutters aloud. “She wouldn’t have left without telling someone.”

“Alex?” Lena watches Kara carefully, no doubt trying to decide what to say. “Has she not told you if she’s running late?”

“No, she was here already,” Kara says. “I don’t think she would have—” She shakes her head to herself, cursing inwardly. She can’t assume that Alex has been dragged away for a work reason. Maybe it has something to do with Alex getting cold feet. Either way, telling her sister’s fiancée that the woman she’s supposed to marry has abandoned her engagement party doesn’t seem like it would do Alex any favors. “I’m sure she’s just in the bathroom or something. Uh, I’m going to just…” She pulls out her cigarette in a poor cover and says, “Go outside, for a smoke break, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Lena says. Then, “Would it be alright if I joined you?”

If Nia knew that Kara’s stupid cigarette would have led to this moment, she would laugh her ass off. Repeatedly. Kara supposes it’s a small mercy that Nia is still dancing with Kelly, so she is spared of any and all jokes at her expense.

It’s not until they’re outside that Kara sheepishly confesses: “So full disclosure…I don’t actually smoke.”

Lena doesn't look particularly surprised at the fact. “It's an odd thing to lie about,” she says, and tilts her head, surveying Kara with a sharp look. “Oh,” she says afterward. “I’m sorry. Clearly, you lied to get away from me, and here I am following you around.”

Kara swallows. Hard. “It’s not that,” she says, even though it kind of is.

“It's okay.” Another touch, this time gently to Kara’s shoulder. Lena has a strange, half-wistful look on her face. “Take your break. I’ll go inside…I should introduce myself to Alex’s friends and keep it convincing.”

That is such a peculiar way to phrase an otherwise normal statement, and Kara feels her brow furrow subconsciously. “What?”

But Lena has turned away by the time Kara even forms the word, and Kara watches, bewildered, as Lena takes two steps forward before immediately whirling back around. There is no other way to describe it, but—Lena has gone sickly pale in the moonlight, as if she’s seen a ghost. Before Kara can ask what’s wrong, Lena has hurriedly bridged the gap between them and grasped Kara’s face with cold, shaking hands.

“Can you turn around?” Lena asks quietly.

Kara does, but she knows her cheeks have gone hot and red by now, so unaccustomed to both the proximity and the specific person before her. “Lena, what’s—”

“I have something very urgent to ask you, and please don’t overthink it,” Lena rushes to say.

“Okay.” Kara tries not to fidget; she has had a gun held to her head several times before and yet, this is the most overwhelmed she has felt in years.

“Can I kiss you?”

Kara blinks. “What?”

“Please,” Lena adds on, as if that makes the question any saner.

And maybe it’s the desperation in Lena’s voice, in her eyes, in the way she keeps on trembling, but Kara recognizes someone in danger. She doesn’t understand what on Earth is going on, but she slowly nods, and trusts that if Alex kicks her ass later it will be for a good cause.

(Kara is not, however, prepared for Lena to immediately kiss her like she’s starving, hands still tight against Kara’s cheeks, dragging Kara so close that Kara is essentially caging her against the wall).

It feels like forever, but not in a bad way. Kara hasn't kissed someone in so long that she feels clumsy, almost like she is outside of her own skin, hands falling against the gravel of the bar’s outside walls in order to stop herself from grabbing at the inviting curves of Lena’s waist.

When Lena gently pushes her away, Kara hastily steps back, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands to keep from doing something dangerous (like reaching back in). Lena looks as if she's calmed down enough at least; she blushes when she meets Kara’s eyes, glancing down at the floor for a brief moment.

“Thank you,” Lena says. “God, if I was recognized out here of all places Alex would have lost it.”

“Recognized?” Kara echoes. She follows the way Lena jerks her head to the right, where the shadow of a man is disappearing into the alleyway. “I…don't follow.”

“That man used to work for my brother,” Lena sighs. “I don’t know if he would have remembered my face, but better safe than sorry.”

Kara opens her mouth, pauses, and then shuts it when she realizes she has no clue what to say. Her phone buzzes in an all-too-welcome distraction, but her blood runs cold when she sees it’s from Alex.

SENTINEL:

Can you tell everyone the party’s cancelled? Lena’s sick. Also let the cat back in before the night’s over.

“Shit,” Kara involuntarily curses when she sees that familiar code phrase. Suddenly everything makes sense: the secrecy, the mysterious brother, the fact that Lena cannot be recognized in the streets outside of a dive bar used as a front for the average spy (or average drunk that security allows in for the cover). “Lena, are you in witness protection?”

Lena squints at Kara like she is the one dropping a bombshell. “Yes? Did you not know that?”

“No! What the—why would Alex bring you here?!” Kara frantically texts her insane sister back.

SUPERGIRL:

Is there a curfew?

SENTINEL:

The sooner the better. I’m at Dad’s house right now or else I would do it myself.

That next coded message makes Kara exhale, finally, to at least know Alex is safe. Something big must have happened if she is dragging Kara into this without so much as a briefing, sure, but Kara also knows that Alex would not have trusted her with anything less.

“Lena,” Kara says, “can I ask you something urgent now?” She pauses when she immediately remembers the firm pressure of Lena’s lips, and quickly adds, “It doesn’t involve kissing.”

“Fair enough,” Lena says, enough amusement coloring her tone that Kara briefly flushes all over again.

“Can you trust me to get you home tonight?” Kara doesn’t wait for an answer before she goes on: “I know you don’t know me. But you know Alex. And I swear on my life, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for Alex, and by extension that means there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Lena nods along with every word slowly. “You take your job very seriously.”

“I do,” Kara says firmly. (And, hopefully, comfortingly).

“Then I trust you, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. “If that’s even your real name.”

And for a brief moment, Kara’s not a spy fighting a clock on a mission she knows nothing about; she is, instead, a normal person who is capable of seeing the humor of her almost-sister-in-law who definitely knows more than she has clearance for.

“It is,” Kara says—even deigns to smile before she can quell it. “By choice.”

“That sounds like there’s a story somewhere.”

“I’ll tell you all about it sometime,” Kara promises. “Maybe even tonight, if in exchange you tell me your real name.”

“Unfortunately, Lena Luthor is my real name,” Lena says. “Alex said it was fine to tell her friends, so, this party was her idea. She even came up with the marriage idea so when my last name is changed, no one will care.”

The cogs finally start turning in Kara’s head far slower than she cares to admit. “Hold on. So you and Alex aren’t actually engaged?”

Again, Lena stares at Kara like she’s grown two heads in the last thirty seconds. “No. You seriously didn’t know? I thought you were just being weird, Alex says you get really into your method-acting stuff.”

“No.” Strangely, the first thing Kara feels is relief; she doesn’t have to actually tell her sister that she kissed her future wife. The second thing is, quite reasonably, alarm. “Okay I don’t know what the hell is going on with your case, but you mentioned someone who used to work for your brother, right? How bad is the threat?”

Lena hesitates. “It’s…kind of a long story.”

“So really bad,” Kara fills in the blanks. “Crap. We need to go.” She quickly shrugs off her jacket and presses it into Lena’s hands. “Put this on. There are no cameras in this area, but we’re going to hit some when we get to the parking lot.”

“Is everything okay?” Lena asks, though she hurriedly does as Kara says.

“I’m sure it is,” Kara tries to assure her. “But it’s just a precaution until we can reunite you with Alex and confirm.”

Lena doesn’t seem like she believes Kara entirely—or at least, the way her expression remains a fraction confused definitely indicates as much. But at the very least, she does not argue, though she does make a point to ask, “Where is Alex?”

“She just got tied up at work.” Kara leads the way to the parking lot, careful to hover at Lena’s side on the off chance any threat might materialize. “I don’t know where your current safe house is or if it’s been compromised, so I’m going to take you somewhere else. Is that okay?”

“Not like I have any choice,” Lena says wearily. “So am I not allowed to know when everything’s gone to shit? Or will everyone just keep telling me it’s okay when it’s not?”

Kara swings open the passenger side of James’s car (he’ll forgive her for this later) and waits for Lena to sit down. Lena doesn’t. “It’s—complicated,” she says.

“How so?” Lena crosses her arms and still does not move. Kara is still holding onto the car door, inadvertently standing too close; she feels strangely helpless when Lena looks right at her with eyes dark and determined.

“Full disclosure,” Kara reluctantly admits, “I…have no clue what’s going on with your case. I’ve been in the dark and Alex can't exactly share the details through a text, so, the truth is I have no idea if everything has gone to shit. I know that is the very last thing you want to hear since I’m supposed to be protecting you, but—”

“Actually,” Lena says, and her look has softened, “that makes me trust you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I appreciate that you will tell me upfront you don't know,” Lena says. She sways slightly closer, enough that Kara stiffens, but it's only to duck into the car after all.

Kara shuts the door only after a very brief pause. This should not be as hard as it feels. For a week she has been associating the idea of Lena Luthor as her sister’s fiancée and it’s tough to wrap her head around the fact that the opposite is true.

(And it has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive Lena is. Or that kiss. For the record.)

The dashboard of James’s car reads 7:19 PM; his radio is playing a news station; the gas tank is half full. Kara makes note of everything and decides she will drive as far as she possibly can before it hits empty.

Lena is quiet, at first. And while there is nothing special about the bumper-to-bumper traffic or the hazy street lights or the clouded night sky, Lena keeps her gaze trained outwards, head resting against the tinted window.

But then, “My brother killed twenty people.”

Kara grips onto the wheel and tries not to outwardly react. She has, of course, always had a terrible poker face. “Oh.”

“It gets worse,” Lena says uneasily. “I designed the technology he used to kill them.”

There is no possible response Kara can imagine which might be appropriate. In the end she settles for: “That actually doesn’t seem like a long story after all.”

“I assumed Alex would have told you that, at least.” Lena begins to drum a pattern with her fingertips against the center console. “Do you think the worst of me now?”

“I guess that depends,” Kara says slowly, “on whether you designed that technology for the purpose of killing people.”

Lena gives a curt, kind of disbelieving half-laugh, half-scoff. “They were nanobots,” she says. “I was trying to use them to cure cancer. But my brother…well, he didn’t see half the potential I did.”

Kara casts a quick glance at Lena, finds her staring straight ahead with a stony expression on her face. “Lena,” she says gently, “that doesn’t sound like it was at all your fault.”

“Everyone tells me that.” More rhythmic drumming, each beat more hesitant than the last. “I don’t know when I’ll start to believe it.”

When she was a kid, Kara had been thrown into the foster system with little more than heartache and a wish to find the cousin she never would. She had never felt so helpless—so unsure—and something about Lena’s guilt right now brings her right back to that moment. Like she’s just a little kid, knees pulled up to her chest, waiting for a sign that would never come.

“It’ll be hard,” Kara says softly. It has begun to drizzle rain, and she mindlessly sets the wipers, watching them flick back and forth as they wait for the light to turn green. “But it will get easier. I promise.”

“Odd thing to promise,” Lena notes, but Kara can feel her gaze burning against the side of her head, and Lena sounds…lighter, somehow. “Can I change the station?”

“Sure.” James will hate it, but Kara doesn’t mind. Lena chooses a jazz station that frequently breaks with static, and it’s by far the most peaceful hour-long drive Kara has had in a while.

They pull up to the safe house when the clock reads 8:34 PM and the rain has petered out; the air feels damp and thick with residual humidity, but otherwise, the tranquility of the quiet gives Kara a good feeling. Lena has fallen asleep in the passenger’s side, and Kara softly nudges her awake.

“Here,” Kara says, handing her James’s emergency bag once they make their way up the house steps. “This should have a change of clothes. They’ll be too big, but better than your dress at least…if you’re hungry there will be granola bars in the pantry. We can’t risk ordering anything else right now, unfortunately.” She digs into her pocket for the batch of safe house keys she has on all times and locates the right one, pressing it surely into Lena’s hand. “Until we know for sure if I’ll be briefed on your case or not, just…assume you’re going to be moved tomorrow. Also, you never saw me. Like, officially.”

Lena wipes at her eyes with her palm, absentmindedly smearing her mascara. “You’re going to leave me here?” she says, hugging James’s bag to her chest.

“No, of course not. I’m going to be sitting in the car, out here,” Kara says. “I just mean like in general, you know, if I don’t end up getting briefed on your case it would be all kinds of not-allowed to be talking to you. So if anyone asks…”

“Ah,” Lena says, “right. I’ll just make up a cover story for my cover story.”

“Yeah, you know, we need to protect the bureaucracies and all that,” Kara says. “If I'm even using that word the right way.”

“And you're supposed to be a journalist?” Lena smiles ever-so-slightly. “Good thing you're decent at your day job.”

“Only decent?” Kara feels her own mouth twitch with the promise of her own smile.

“I'd give you five stars on Yelp,” Lena says confidently, and Kara laughs, unable to stop herself from full-on grinning.

“Well if you need anything,” Kara says, and gestures over her shoulder to the car. “You know where I'll be.”

“Thank you.” Lena places a hand over Kara’s wrist, and just squeezes there briefly, her hand slightly cold but her touch overwhelmingly gentle. “Um. Would it be—would it be allowed to ask if you can stay with me inside, instead? I don't really want to be…alone.”

“That would make plausible deniability much harder to fake,” Kara tries to protest, but Lena is biting her lip and looking at Kara underneath mascara-smudged lashes and really, there is no other option but to cave. “…but I guess I could break a rule or two. Or twenty-seven.”

Lena smiles fully this time with obvious relief. “And here I thought I'd have to work harder to corrupt you.”

Kara pushes her glasses up her nose and says, “I’m a little concerned you were planning to corrupt me, but I mean. It’s one night.” She follows Lena inside when she opens the door, surveys the untouched room with a quick, satisfied glance. “Just as long as you don’t get me into trouble.”

“I’ll try my best not to,” Lena says, making a beeline for the couch to inspect James’s emergency bag; she pulls out an oversized T-shirt with an exhausted sigh. “Can you unzip me?” Already she’s pulling her hair off her shoulders, exposing the graceful slope of her neck, and Kara almost forgets to lock the door behind her.

“Y-yeah,” she stammers out, once again fiddling with the glasses that she doesn’t need, and she knows it right then and there: Lena Luthor will undoubtedly get her in trouble. And judging by the way Lena gazes so shyly at Kara over her shoulder, she knows it.

(But, well. In the grand scheme of things, Kara figures a little trouble never hurt anyone).

#vaguest storyline but i was getting TOO invested in the plot for a oneshot omg i had to stop myself #i just have a lot of feelings about this AU okay #supercorp #supergirl #book-nerd1216 #i need a fic tag #occasionally i finish prompts <3 yknow

239 notes · View notes

heroes-among-us-all · 1 year

Note

hello! could i request for hcs where bakugo has a clingy babbly girl who always bugs him by following him around (bonus points: THEY'RE NEIGHBORS) and says she loves him all the time but he always just scoffs and ignores her then one time she ends up giving up or getting hurt and ends up distancing herself in the process and he starts to seek her out oMg you can take it from there IM JUST SO HAPPY YOUR ASK BOX IS OPEN YOURE MY FAVE BNHA IMAGINE BLOG AHH

I made this into a scenario instead of headcanons. Hope that's ok!

From the moment you moved into the house across from his, you'd already decided that you would stick to Katsuki like glue.

You just couldn't help it. After all, he stood out from the rest (even if it was in a bad way at times), which made it almost impossible for you to keep your eyes off him. He was headstrong and brave, not to mention incredibly attractive. Before you'd realized it, you were crushing on him hard.

But being the kind of person that you were, it didn't occur to you to try and hide your feelings. Instead, you clung to his side and made sure to seek him out at every available opportunity. You were incredibly thankful to have made it into U.A, because it allowed you to see him during class as well.

At the beginning, Katsuki thought you would give up and get bored of pestering him after a while. He clearly didn't seem to realize just how strongly you felt about him.

No matter how often he scoffed at you or told you to get lost, you were still right there, grinning at him ear-to-ear.

"I love you, Katsuki!"

Words that the average person struggled to say fell from your lips without so much as a second thought. The first time Katsuki had heard you say you loved him, his eyes had gone wider than ever. He even wondered if you were just playing a prank on him or something.

She's such an idiot, he thought. She doesn't even mean that. It's so dumb.

He'd long since convinced himself that you were just some ditzy girl without a serious bone in your body. That was why, even when you kept on insisting that you loved him - more than anything, as you so often stressed - Katsuki didn't take it to heart. He never stopped to actually consider that you were telling him the honest and unfiltered truth.

Until the day you got upset with him.

"Quit it with that sappy shit," he snapped. "I'm tired of hearing you spew the same garbage all the time."

It was just like any another day. You were clinging onto his arm and gushing about how much you loved him. As much as Katsuki wanted to say that he'd gotten to used to this by now, the truth was that he hadn't. Every time you hugged him or got extra close and said those kinds of things, he could feel his chest getting tight and his cheeks burning. Even if you were just running your mouth without meaning what you said, it was still embarrassing as all hell. And despite what most people probably thought, he did get flustered.

That was why he lashed out at you. He was fed up with being the only one to get worked up while you said all that stuff without even batting an eye. It wasn't like he actually disliked you or anything. Far from it, in fact. Even if he wouldn't admit it, you were the person he considered closest to him.

Perhaps that's why he felt comfortable speaking brashly. He'd always done it until now; why should today be any different?

Needless to say, dejection was quick to sweep across your face. You looked weary all of a sudden. You weren't smiling the way you usually did.

"Okay," you said softly. "I'm sorry. I just thought... I don't know. But I'm sorry. I should've taken the hint by now."

From that day onward, you didn't say a single word to him. You breezed past him in the hallways without so much as glancing his way. You didn't bother asking to walk home with him the way you usually did. Even when your parents came over to hang out at Katsuki's place - since your families were on good terms - you didn't come along with them. You purposefully stayed home, as if you no longer wanted anything to do with him. You were avoiding him. Did you not like him all of a sudden, or what the fuck?

Katsuki had always been stubborn, even as a child, so it took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he missed having you around. He missed having you cling to him and smile like you didn't have a single worry in the world. He missed seeing your cute face and feeling your arms wrap him in a hug.

Katsuki had liked you back for a while, but he was just too hardheaded to see it.

After finally coming to the realization that having you around was something he wanted, Katsuki did what he'd never done before and sought you out himself.

He managed to corner you during lunch, in the cafeteria, so that you couldn't try and pull a fast one on him. As expected, you refused to so much as meet eyes with him, but when Katsuki put his mind to something, he couldn't be deterred.

"You're done ignoring me," he frowned, grabbing you by the hand. Even though you tried to protest, he held on tight. "I need to talk to you. Aren't you going to hear me out?"

Katsuki didn't even realize it, but his gaze was nowhere near as confident and assured as it usually was. In fact, it was almost as if his eyes were pleading for you to stay. He really, really wanted you to stay with him.

Luckily, you'd always been the better person. Certainly a better person he was.

You nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's talk."

Relief couldn't even begin to express what Katsuki felt. For a moment, he thought he might faint from the stress. He was worried that you were seriously done with him for good. But you were giving him another chance, and this time, he wasn't going to screw it up.

Katsuki gripped your hand as tightly as he could while the two of you walked out of the cafeteria together. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, searching for someplace quiet and secluded. Confessing his feelings was actually a much more frightening thought than he would've liked to admit, but you were special to him. For you, he could set aside his petty pride.

After all, you were worth it.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha imagines #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #bnha headcanons #fluff #katsuki x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero imagines

861 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 9 months

Note

Hi Bonny! I don't know if you're still doing stuff for this story (feel free to ignore if you aren't) but I couldn't help but wonder how Lacrymaria Olor!(I pray that I spelt that right) JK would react to MC getting her period for the first time. Especially after seeing his little freak out when we almost got kidnapped. Anyways, have a good day/afternoon/evening/night!

Nop, that was actually never asked- so here you go! Set very close before the happenings of Part 3, just for a clearer timeline haha

Some things about you have pretty much gone unnoticed before Jungkook truly began showing more intimate interest in you. From quirks and habits, to more unique things that set yours and his kind apart- and you tend to forget that some things he's never witnessed.

Before, you'd sleep in a room just for you- and you'd be cared for by maids he'd apparently hired just for the purpose of making sure you wouldn't have to worry about anything. They'd tend to any request you might have, and apparently even had to learn about some human anatomy simply to be able to be prepared for anything that might happen.

Things like.. well, your period.

And every month, it would be fine- so much so that you got used to using the cloth-like material in a way similar to how you'd use pads bad on earth. It became normal again, in a way. His palace became.. somewhat home.

You're woken up in the middle of the night, a clearly distressed Jungkook leaning above you, eyes wide open, scanning your body it seems like. "What- what's going on?" You mumble half asleep, now sitting up as well before you cringe at the cramping of your lower stomach.

And when you look down, you notice it.

"I've already called for Namjoon. Don't worry- we'll fix it." He promises, holding your hands, while you laugh a bit under your breath.

"I- Jungkook I'm fine." You tell him, and he shakes his head.

"You don't have to act tough right now-" He softly argues, and you shake your head again, carefully trying to sit up and wiggle out of bed. "Don't stand-"

"Jungkook, this is normal- let me clean up please." You giggle, squeezing past his arms and into the bathroom, where you do just that- finishing your business only a few minutes later, emerging out of the bathroom again just to run into Jungkook's chest. "oh-"

"What's happening to you?" He asks, now a lot more serious.

"I'm.. menstruating?" You raise your brows a bit, testing if he knows what that word means- but his face tells you he clearly doesn't- but Namjoon clears his throat in the doorway now, similarly amused over his friend's and king's distress.

"Her body is preparing for pregnancy." He bluntly states, giving you some hygiene necessities you take with a thankful nod, slipping back into the bathroom to fix yourself up. "Humans bleed during that time, and shed some of the lining of their internal reproductive organs." He explains, while Jungkook looks absolutely horrified as he watches the maids silently change the bedsheets.

"Will she be okay?" He asks, worry clear in his tone. "What does she need to regain her blood?" He instantly wants to know, and Namjoon laughs.

"Jungkook, I just wanna sleep.." You say, leaning against him, and he instantly holds you close, delicately as if you're a wounded pet on it's last breath.

"She'll have some cramps and will probably be a bit less active than you're used to. But she's fine, just like she said. She knows her body best. If anything is out of the ordinary for her, I am sure she will let us know." Namjoon says, and you nod.

And so Jungkook, albeit reluctantly, gets back to bed with you-

and holds you just a little tighter tonight, just to be safe.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #alien!jungkook #alien jungkook

283 notes · View notes

gingerbreadmonsters · 3 months

Text

something strange

or: who you gonna call?

gn!reader, warnings for mild innuendo and discussion of death, halloween hijinks except it’s literally spring, oopsie. hello, operator? there’s something weird, and it - well, it’s not looking great… it’s time for yet another weirdo DAMN crew AU! cheers as always to agent of the google docs surveillance state @zozo-01 who keeps figuring out when i’m working on this at 4am, and to all the gang on discord who have tolerated the frankly disturbingly-morbid questions that it’s prompted. please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle - don't worry, we'll reattach those for you at the end of the ride. dear having a dose of a freaky ghost (or five) in just over 13,600 words.

Every day's a school day, or so you're told.

For most people, that's more of a figurative thing. For you, you've been going to school basically non-stop since you were three years old or something, so it's pretty literal.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, you suppose. Teaching at DAMN is pretty good, the faculty and students are nice enough, and it pays… well, it pays. More than your last job, though that's not really saying much, and enough to afford the mortgage on this new house you've moved into.

It’s weird. You’d heard nothing but terrible things about the housing market in California lately, and Dahlia was no exception - it still isn’t, if you’re honest. Rent is extortionate, but even that barely matters when there’s hardly anything available in the first place.

You'd been so surprised when you'd seen it online. A proper, two-bedroom detached house, with a garden and a garage and everything, going for a lot less than the - admittedly-few - other houses nearby. How had nobody snapped it up already? Pleasantly surprised, you'd called the estate agent to see about putting in an offer, and you'd barely been able to get the words out before she'd set you up with an appointment the next day.

She'd been… cagey, is probably the best way to put it. Reluctant to tell you why it was so cheap. She couldn't stall forever, though - you remember the resigned, slightly apologetic look on her face as she took a deep breath, before plastering on a grin and telling you what was going on.

Now then, she'd said. I know it's unpleasant, but I'm required by law to disclose to you that, within the last three years, a number of previous tenants sadly passed away on the property.

You’d certainly been surprised, but she’d clearly just wanted to get this conversation over with, and just breezed on. As far as we understand, none of the tenants were affiliated with each other, and only two of the deaths were directly caused by an issue with the property - some minor faulty wiring, and one of the older sections of the roof was damaged during a storm and collapsed unexpectedly. It’s since been repaired, though, so no need to worry!

Somehow, the worst part about that sentence wasn’t the news that someone had been crushed to death in the house you were trying to buy, but was instead the cheery smile with which she delivered the news, like she thought you’d be delighted. Are all real estate agents in California like this?

How many, exactly? Were there any before that? you’d asked, and she hadn’t quite been able to hide her grimace. And how did they die? Should I be concerned about the local area?

Unfortunately for her, you’d been reading up on the sorts of laws that estate agents like her have to follow in California. No matter what, they have to tell you if anyone died in the house in the last three years - but if you ask for more information about it, or about any other deaths from before then, they’re legally required to tell you the truth about that as well.

Well, I don’t mean to alarm you… Nervously, she’d clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, before turning back to you. The four tenants before you all passed away on the property - not under suspicious circumstances, of course. Just… you know. These things happen.

Yes, you’d said flatly. Obviously.

Three out of the four were accidental - one was the result of a fall, one was the aforementioned issue with the roof, and I believe the other was due to an electrical fault. The fourth was the most recent - an altercation with an intruder during a break-in - but we’ve been assured by the local police department that this sort of thing is highly unusual for the area, and is very unlikely to happen again.

As she spoke, you’d felt a horrible feeling of resignation settle in your stomach. Of course the one place you can actually afford to buy is the one where tenants keep dying inexplicably.

How old were they, would you say?

Some more clicking, and if her expression had been anything to go by, a spreadsheet that was loading a lot slower than it should. It looks like… yeah, it looks like most were in their mid-twenties, or thereabouts.

Perfect. Of course they were. Were they living alone?

She’d clearly been dreading the question, gritted teeth forced into a smile. I believe so, yes. The implied like you will be hangs heavy in the air between you, and her eyes dart momentarily back to her screen before flicking back to yours.

Great. Everything about it had been great. A new city, a new job, living alone in a literal, actual death trap of a house. What could possibly go wrong?

Well then, you’d said, crossing your fingers behind your back. I have a good feeling about this.

For the first few weeks, things had been more or less normal - you’d been a little on edge, but nothing especially deadly had happened to you. No wardrobes falling on you, no rugs pulled out from underneath you, no invisible gas leaking into your lungs. In fact, it had been a perfectly ordinary house. If you were more suspicious, you might even say it was too ordinary. But that would be a silly thing to say, and you’re not, so you don’t.

Just a normal person, moving into a normal house. What could be simpler?

The start of term is a blur, and all too soon you’re so caught up in the semester that you barely have the energy to drag yourself upstairs to bed when you get home, let alone worry about anything else. Introducing yourself to your new coworkers, meeting your new classes, sorting through lesson plans and worksheets and your stupid fucking institutional login, being reset for the fifth time in as many days because apparently the IT department here is just as overworked and underpaid as anywhere else and if you have to go and beg them to reset your password again you’re going to-

Wait, it’s nearly the end of the semester already? What?

Finals season at DAMN is a particularly vicious mistress, it seems, and you've been going out of your mind trying to stay on top of all your work. One of the other Water Elemental professors went on maternity leave a month into the semester, so you've been forced to take over her class for the rest of the year - and you can safely say that you're never doing this again.

Twice as many lectures, twice as many emails, twice as much chasing students for late assignments. Right now, basically your whole day is taken up with running practicals, and your evenings are nothing but marking, marking, marking.

Yeah. That’s all that happens in the evenings. You don’t have time to think about anything else at all, nothing whatsoever, because there’s nothing else to think about.

You don’t think about the odd sounds from downstairs while you’re trying to sleep, muffled whispers of what could almost be conversation, echoing quietly in the hallway. You don’t think about the fact that you definitely turned the TV off before you left the house, and how it definitely wasn’t turned to the news when you did. You especially don’t think about how the plants in the garden never seem to need watering, or how the shelves never seem to get dusty, or how the curtains in the living room always seem to be open in the morning, even though you’re sure you closed them before you went to bed.

The doors that open and close on their own - well, it’s just a bit draughty, isn’t it? The strange chill in the air that seems to linger in certain places in the house, no matter how much you turn up the heating - well, all these old houses have their quirks, don’t they? That faint, blurry figure that you could have sworn you saw ducking past you in the mirror, disappearing so quickly that it can’t have really been there at all - and when you turn, there’s nothing behind you but air…

Condensation on the mirror before you’ve even had your shower, the sweet scent of a perfume you don’t wear. You’re going out of your mind.

You’ve started spending more time at work, waking up even earlier than before and going home even later. Organising lesson plans, sorting through papers, picking up extra invigilation, desperate to spend as long as you can at the university - anything, to get you out of that house. Practically the only thing you do at home now is sleep, and even that’s not for very long before you’re dashing out the door again in the morning. You’ll get breakfast on the way. Maybe if you’re not there as often, whatever it is will just… go away?

Only that doesn’t happen - if anything, it’s the complete opposite. The whole place feels strangely uneasy now, like the house itself is on edge, watching you. Something in the corner of your eye, the feeling of something breathing that surely shouldn’t be able to. Something tense and creeping in the air, stretching and stretching, ready to snap.

Fitful dreams, sleepless nights, keys jangling in your hand. Is it still paranoia if your house is really haunted?

It all comes to a head on - well, to be honest, you’re not so sure what day it is. Wednesday, maybe? Thursday? Whatever the case, you’ve been running on practically empty for longer than you should have been, and you’re really starting to feel it now.

Head pounding, you shut your eyes as you lean over the coffee maker. One for now, and one in your flask for later - oh, and you’ve run out of energy drinks in your office, so you’ll have to get a few out of the fridge to take with you.

Stressed at work, stressed at home, and barely sleeping in between. You’ve been forced to live on barely anything but coffee and energy drinks for almost a week now, just to keep yourself upright, and you think… um, you think it might be…

Fuck, your head is spinning. Just a minute, and you’ll be fine. It’s fine. Your laptop’s upstairs by your bed, so you’ve just got to grab that, and then you can be off to work. Just - just wait for the walls to stop moving, alright? You’ll only be a second…

The coffee’s slightly too hot as you gulp it down, and you hiss as it burns your tongue, scorching the inside of your mouth - something cold, you want something cold, make it stop it hurts it hurts - cracking, fizzing, oh, that’s nice, it’s cold, it’s cold - wait, what is it?

Oh, that’s bad. You look down at the half-empty can in your hand, lovely and cold from the fridge, condensation dripping slowly down the metal. Oops. That can’t be good for you.

Now that you’ve opened it, you might as well finish it. You won’t be able to carry an open can with you and it’ll go all weird if you just leave it out. What a waste!

Sip by sip, you gradually empty the can. Why does your stomach feel so weird? That’s not fun. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remember…?

Laptop, you need to get your laptop. Upstairs. Right.

Well, if your heart explodes, your heart explodes. Giggling to yourself as you stumble past the front door and up the stairs, you imagine the look on that stupid estate agent’s face when she realises what’s happened - shit, they’ll have to put the price down even further, won’t they? That’ll be a hell of a hard sell. Yeah, they all died in mysterious accidents, all very strange and creepy, no idea how it happened - oh, except the last one. That one died of coffee disease when their blood turned into caffeine and their brain caught fire. Tragic.

It’s all fine. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Smiling, you grab your laptop case from the bedside table, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of you. Don't even think about it.

Don't think about the way you’re tripping over your own feet as you narrowly miss bumping into the bed, clinging to the doorframe to keep yourself upright. Don't think about the rushing, racing headache that's building in your skull as you drag yourself back down the corridor, that restless pressure in your chest that won't stop growing as you fumble for the bannister. Don't think about the dizzy, blurry world that shudders around you, the strange lightness in your mind as something gives way, the floor that suddenly isn't there beneath you-

STOP!

the horrible sound of your body as it falters and falls, the terrifying space under your feet where the stairs should be

I don't know, they just - I just - oh, God…

the aftertaste of adrenaline flooding through your blood, bitter and strange

Don't just fucking stand there!

as your heart chokes on its own frantic rhythm

Get out of - here, I can do it-

and there's somebody there

What are you even going to do?

and the world goes black

Don't ask.

and everything

disappears.

You don’t wake up for a while.

Shit, your head hurts.

Slowly, you start to feel something on your face, something cold and hard that’s pressing uncomfortably against your cheek. What is that?

You reach up, and - oh. It’s the floor.

Still too lightheaded to sit up, you gradually come back to consciousness in fits and starts, lazy thoughts swimming through your heavy head. You’re lying in the corridor on your side, staring at the skirting board - which is looking a bit grubby, now that you really look at it - and your laptop case is on the floor by the bedroom door a few feet away. The zip is open, and you can see about half of the actual laptop peeking out.

Thankfully, it looks okay. You’re not sure you could deal with having to buy a new one right now, especially with all the work you’ve got to-

Panicked, you jolt upright, one hand coming up to clutch at your skull as it feels like it’s on fire. You’ve got work!

Wait, what’s the time - how late are you? God, you really couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall down the fucking stairs, could you? You’ll have to call the office and tell them what’s happened, that you’re so, so, sorry, that if they can just get someone to cover your second period lecture you should be in by then…

Hold on.

Confused, you look down. Yeah, that’s what you thought - you’re sitting on the floor, sprawled out in the hallway and facing the wall. There’s nothing around you except your laptop case, and your bedroom door is open.

This isn’t right. How are you looking at your upstairs bedroom door, when you’re sure you fell down the stairs?

And that’s only the first thing - now that you really look, of course you’re not downstairs. The stairs go right down by the front door, but there are no shoes on the ground or coats hanging on the wall. Your laptop case must have been open when you dropped it, but the laptop itself is still inside - surely it would have fallen out when it slid down the stairs, or at least be in much worse shape than it is now?

You’re so confused by the whole thing that it doesn’t even occur to you that, besides the throbbing ache in your head, you’re not actually in any pain. Your heart has slowed back down to normal so you don’t feel quite so sick, and you can’t even feel any bruises or soreness from where you must have hit the ground. It’s as if you’d just… decided to lie down.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because you don’t notice it. You slowly pick yourself back up and stagger into your bedroom, reaching for the glass of water that sits on your bedside table, and the telltale fizzle of healing magic that was left on your tongue disappears without a trace.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The ladies at the front office are very kind when you call to let them know you might be a bit late, but you hadn’t been unconscious for as long as you thought. You only end up missing half of the first period, after all, and even your headache gradually disappears over the course of the day.

The idea of going to the hospital does occur to you - you did lose consciousness, after all - but you decide against it. You feel fine, and it was probably just your body telling you to cut back on the caffeine for a little while. The winning combination of coffee and a can of whatever-it-was probably wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach.

Ironically, if you had a student who this happened to, you’d probably have dragged them halfway to A&E yourself by now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, you can’t pretend that everything’s normal once you’ve finally arrived - your department head comes in at lunchtime to find you ankle deep in a pile of second-year practical write-ups, and all but kicks you out of your office so you can go home early and recover. For my sake, if anything, she says with a grin, although you know she’s only half-joking. Think of my reputation - I can’t let my newest lecturer spend more time here than I do, can I?

It’s certainly very kind of her, probably more so than you deserve, and before you know it you’ve been unceremoniously booted out of the building and onto the quad. Looks like it’s hometime, then.

The bus is warm, but not too crowded, so you’re lucky enough to get a seat by the window. There are worse things to do than watch the world go by on your way back home, and the nice view makes the trip go faster - in no time at all, you’re getting off again.

It’s so bizarre, going home in the middle of the day. Normally it’s long been dark by the time you get back, and everything looks so different in the light that you almost walk straight past your street entirely. Has the house on the opposite side of the road always had those flowers in the front garden? Or has it just always been too dark for you to notice them?

Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you have a horrible feeling that you don’t really know anything about this place. What really happens here in Dahlia? How much of it have you actually seen, that isn’t the inside of a university building?

Unsettled, you unlock the door and step inside, shutting the door behind you with a sigh. Home at last. You’ll have to-

I swear, if you-

Wait, was that the door?

Hold on. What was that sound…?

You listen for a second, but you can’t hear anything unusual. Huh. Must have been nothing.

In any case, now that you’re home, you’re really starting to feel that tiredness creeping in. With a sigh of relief, you toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, before sliding your bag off your shoulder and dropping your keys into th-

There’s no way. It’s, like, lunchtime or something, right?

Okay, this is really starting to get weird now. You could have sworn you heard someone, muffled and ever-so-quiet underneath the noise of your keys falling into the bowl that you normally keep them in.

Is there someone else here? There can’t be, surely. You peer around the hallway, looking for any sign that someone might have broken in, but you don’t see anything weird - although it’s not like you really know what you’d be looking for. The door was locked when you came in, and you know that when you left for work, all the windows were shut and the back door was locked too.

Besides, everyone said this part of the city was pretty safe, didn’t they?

(Okay, so the last tenant did die horribly when someone broke in a few months ago, but something, something, never strikes twice or whatever.)

Your aura flickers as you try to reach out and see if you can feel something there, but there’s nothing at all. No sign of anyone, empowered or otherwise, and nothing out of the ordinary happening with the ambient magic in the house.

To tell the truth, you’d been surprised at how strong it was when you moved in. At least one of the previous tenants must have been magical, and really powerful - this house is full of magic left behind, traces of a forgotten aura, echoing softly in the walls and floors. It happens to most places where empowered people live or work, so it’s not like you’re not used to it, but even so… wow. It’s very strong.

Gingerly, you creep across the hallway and nudge the door to the living room just slightly open, before holding your breath and peeking inside.

And… there’s nothing there.

Just your boring, ordinary living room.

You check all the other rooms just to make sure, but they’re exactly the same. Nothing out of place, everything just as you’d left it. Nothing missing, nothing moved, nothing weird at all. There’s no trace of an intruder, and you’re starting to feel a bit silly, really. Surely you’re just imagining things, right?

Well, that or you’re hearing voices. God, all that caffeine really has fucked you up.

Perhaps a nap might be in order, now that you think about it. Yeah, a nap would be good. You’re getting tired just thinking about it - falling asleep, not having to worry about anything, relaxing after all the bizarre things that have been happening to you today. It sounds wonderful.

Quickly, you change into your pyjamas and get into bed, getting a glass of water from the kitchen before you go upstairs - you briefly consider having a shower beforehand, but you’re too sleepy to bother. Your bed is warm and soft and quiet, and that’s what matters right now.

Oh, it’s so nice. No more headache, no more confusion. The duvet is thick and comfy as you pull it around you, and just like that, you’re asleep almost immediately.

While you’re sleeping, do you dream?

I don’t get it. Why come back so soon?

Maybe it’s a timetabling thing? For finals? Like, an exam got cancelled so they didn’t have to stay? But it really could be anything - it’s always a miserable time for everyone, even the staff, so who even knows what it was…

Yeah, that’s true.

Do you think it’ll be back to normal tomorrow?

We’ll just have to wait and see. Hopefully we don’t get another scare like earlier.

Oh my God, that was fucking terrifying… I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Again!

Is that what happened? I thought it - oh, yeah, I guess it sort of counts. But it’s not like anyone can see us, anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter.

Well… But, like, it’s still kind of stressful though, don’t you think?

A bit, I guess. But you could probably say we’ve had worse.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair enough.

…No, you probably don’t.

When you wake up, it’s nighttime, weak moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains and falling across the floor. Mm, it’s so nice and warm under the covers. What’s the time? Everything feels weird.

Blearily, you reach for your phone - it’s about eight o’clock. Shit. Has it really been that long? You’d only meant to be asleep for a few hours, not the whole rest of the day…

Ah, whatever. You must have needed it. And anyway, you can’t really be bothered to try and think about work now - whatever you were going to do, you’ll just deal with it tomorrow. Maybe you’ll go downstairs and have a little something for dinner, and then relax a bit more before going to bed properly.

You rub your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up to sitting, swinging your legs over the side of the bed with a groan. Getting up is the worst. The glass of water on your bedside table is nice, though, and you gulp down about half of it while you get used to being upright again.

…Is it just you, or can you hear something coming from the next room?

Nope, nope, you’re not doing this again - it was nothing last time, and it’s probably nothing again. You’re just a little bit on edge. Perfectly understandable. You’re going to get up and go out of your room, and walk over to the stairs. Then you’re going to go down the stairs, and go to the kitchen to make some dinner, and absolutely nothing strange is going to happen while you do it.

With that in mind, you stand up and walk towards the door with a lot more confidence than you feel, although it’s slightly undermined when you have to backtrack a few steps in because you forgot to pick up your phone. But with that in hand, you pull the bedroom door open and step out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be-

“Ah!”

It’s not. Oh, fuck, it’s really, really not.

There’s a shadow in the corridor - your breath freezes as you see it, a paralysing chill slicing down your spine. Floorboards creaking quietly, the faintest sound of breathing. Something moving, just inside the doorway to the guest bedroom down the hall.

There’s someone else in the house.

The door is slightly open, letting you see just a tiny bit inside the room, and you stare in shock as you catch a glimpse of a definitely-there, definitely-real hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at the doorframe. Whoever it belongs to, the angle makes it look like they’re leaning against the wall - the hand trembles slightly as it clutches at the wood, clumsy and frantic, nails scratching at the paint.

Terrified, you’re frozen to the floor as the hand slips down a fraction, and the arm it’s attached to knocks the side of the door. The hinges creak faintly as the door slowly swings open, only to reveal-

“Mmm…”

Wait, what?

Okay, you realise that you screwed up with the whole caffeine thing earlier. And you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. And you just woke up from a nap. So all in all, you’re probably not operating at full capacity right now. But even so, even with all that going on, you have to admit that you really weren’t expecting to see a couple very enthusiastically making out against the wall of your guest bedroom.

The two of them are utterly lost in each other and totally ignoring you - in fact, it doesn’t even look like they’ve noticed you standing here at all. If your brain could stop bluescreening, you’d almost be offended.

The - um, demon? Is that really a demon? You’ve only ever seen a few from afar, mostly on campus, but the distinctive flavour of magic that soaks into your aura even from here is a dead giveaway - the demon presses himself against the human-looking one as he kisses them, horns knocking softly against the wall above their head as he leans over them. The human clings to his shoulders in return, and you watch as a hand that you now recognise slides down the demon’s chest to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

They’re also both very, very hot. Woah.

(Look, it’s been a while, okay? And anyway, it’s just an observation. An idle, ordinary observation. It’s not your fault that they look… fuck, they look really good. Like, really good.)

The human sighs softly as the demon nudges their head to the side with the tip of his tail, kissing avidly across their jaw and down their throat. Are those fangs? Does he have fangs? Because it certainly looks like it from here - the human’s eyelids flutter as he nips sweetly at their skin, only for their gaze to fall on-

“Mm - mmm!” The human splutters as they finally notice you, eyes going wide and hands clutching frantically at the demon’s back as they try to nudge him away. Is it fear or surprise? “It - baby, baby, there - there’s s-”

“Yeah - mhm, I-”

The demon shushes them breathlessly, chasing their lips with a quiet whine, one arm locking tight around their middle to keep them close as his other hand cups the back of their head, presumably to protect them from hitting their head against the wall. “They can’t see, deviant, ‘s okay-”

“You - mm, fuck! - Gav, they’re right - they’re right there!”

Somewhat belatedly, you realise that you’ve just been kind of standing there and staring at these two - with a start, you stumble backwards a step and drop your gaze to the floorboards in embarrassment. Should you be embarrassed? You’re a little bit embarrassed.

(It’s kind of rude to stare at people who are making out. Although, it’s also kind of rude to break into someone else’s house and start making out against the wall while the owner of the house is trying to sleep in the next room, so maybe you’re even.)

You scramble hastily for words, half-formed syllables spilling out of your mouth, but you have no idea what to say - what can you say in a situation like this? How do you - what do you - where do you even begin?

Luckily, the demon speaks up before you can make too much of a fool of yourself - you notice that he’s stepped slightly in front of the human, tail coiling around their calf in a way that you can only describe as deeply, deliberately possessive. Does he think you’re going to… to do what? Hurt them?

“I suppose we ought to explain…?”

He sounds a bit surprised, which is unexpected, considering that this is the weirdest break-in on Earth, and also that this isn’t his house. Aren’t you the one who should be surprised?

“I think they’re in the living room,” says the human in a total non-sequitur, gently extricating themselves from the demon’s tail and backing away towards the end of the corridor. “I’ll go and get them.”

“No - no, we’ll come down,” the demon calls back to them as they disappear downstairs. “I think our new friend might want to sit down for this.”

You don’t really have a chance to protest, utterly lost in shock - numbly, you follow the demon as he beckons you over, with a smile that looks easy, but you’re sure it’s taking a lot more effort than he’d like.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says conversationally, gesturing towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you.”

He motions again towards the stairs, but you’re too dazed to really get what he means - with a good-natured sigh, he takes a step in front of you and starts walking backwards down the stairs, one hand drifting just slightly above the bannister as the other keeps urging you forwards. “And you might be…?”

Oh - oh, that’s what he wants! You wouldn’t say that the jumble of syllables that falls out of your mouth is exactly your name, but it’s close enough, and he nods in acquiescence.

“Well, then. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

There’s a funny sort of smile in his voice when he says that, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it might be. And anyway, what does he mean by finally?

The demon - Gavin, what a strange name for a demon, you’ll have to remember that - he turns when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and you see that the door to the living room is open now. You can hear a sort of whispered argument going on in there, between what sounds like two or three people, but you can’t see wh-

“Um, yeah - yeah, I’ll just go and get something from the - fuck! - sorry, sorry, I’m just - oh my God!”

Totally stunned, all you can do is watch as a man comes hurrying out of the living room towards you, talking at lightning speed over his shoulder and almost tripping over Gavin’s tail before the demon whips it out of the way just in time. He stumbles forwards as he tries to get his balance back, grabbing the end of the bannister to keep himself upright - you catch a glimpse of something silver around his neck, tucked into his shirt, before you’re suddenly face-to-face with a very large pair of glasses, and the very flustered-looking man who’s right behind them.

(Oh, for the love of - did anyone break into your house who isn’t ridiculously pretty? What sort of home invader beauty pageant did these people all come from?)

“Shit.”

Both of you stare at each other for a confused second, unblinking, before the strange man jerks backwards away from you, hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as he starts to ramble.

“I mean, um, sorry! Not to, like, call you - not you, obviously - that would be rude, and - and I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just, you know…”

“Smooth,” murmurs Gavin behind him, leaning against the wall and not even trying to hide his grin. “Now do one of those pick-up lines we practised.”

The man shuts his eyes like he’s trying to stave off a headache, taking what’s clearly a blood-pressure-lowering deep breath. “Please, please fuck off.”

Gavin shrugs, blowing him an unapologetic kiss and waving at you with the tip of his tail, before disappearing through the door to the living room with a cackle.

“Whatever you say, Lasky!”

“Oh, not again-!”

He turns to you, almost pleadingly, and he looks so comically weary that you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. “It’s Lasko, not Lasky, he does this every time and I…”

“It’s - um, it’s alright,” you reply, and give him your nicest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lasko.”

He blinks owlishly at you for a second, like he’s not sure what to say, before smiling back at you. “Nice to… uh, nice to meet you too!”

Idly, you notice that his hand has come up to fiddle with the chain of his necklace, although the actual pendant is hidden under his shirt. It must be pretty sizeable, though, because you can just about see the shape of it through the material - a kind of sphere, or a round-ish chunk of some gemstone, maybe?

“I was just going to get some water for - well, for you, actually, just ‘cause Hux said he thought it might be nice? Like, obviously it’s a lot to get used to, and if you’re holding a drink then you don’t have to, um - you know, when you don’t know what to do with your hands? Or if you don’t know what to say, then you’ve got something to do, and anyway, it’s just kind of nice to… to, uh…”

Lasky - nope, Lasko, it’s Lasko - trails off, apparently only just noticing that he’s blocking the bottom of the stairs, and hurriedly sidesteps out of the way to let you past. “You can go in, by the way! I’ll just be a minute.”

Before you have a chance to say anything, he disappears off towards the kitchen, white ankle socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor, and all you can think is that you’ve never heard of a burglar who took off his shoes when he broke into the house.

Well, you might as well do what he says…?

Timidly, you creep up to the living room door and peer around the doorframe, dreading what you’ll find. These people all seem very nice, but what the hell are they doing here, anyway? Are they going to do something to you? How long have they been planning this? You couldn’t run, even if you tried - if they’ve got a demon on their side, you’d barely be able to get out the front door before they’d catch you again.

Being brave, you’ve got to be brave. Whatever they want, just give it to them, and maybe they’ll go away.

“Hey, uh… you okay?”

You jolt as another man pops into view, leaning into your field of vision from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He waves, and his smile is awfully sweet as he motions for you to come into the room.

“You can stay there if you want, but, like… it’s your house, right?” he laughs, not unkindly. “You can go wherever you like, dude, we won’t stop you.”

He sits back upright from where he was leaning over as you walk nervously into the room, and you notice that there’s another man sitting next to him on the sofa. It’s hard to tell, seeing as they’re sitting down, but this one looks slightly shorter than the first, flicking his dark hair out of his face and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

(Fucking hell, they’re literally all so beautiful. Do the cast of Vogue normally spend their free time breaking and entering, or are you just really lucky?)

“Damien,” the shorter man says, standing up and walking around the coffee table with one hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Well, he’s certainly cutting to the chase, isn’t he? Fair enough. You introduce yourself in turn as you shake his hand, but you can’t help but think there’s something… something odd about the feeling of his skin. He’s not cold, per se, but it’s something like that - a strange feeling that runs down your spine like ice water, like your mind can’t place it but your body instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right.

In any case, he sits back down and the man next to him lifts a hand in greeting, looking slightly embarrassed that Damien beat him to the punch.

“Ah, I’m Huxley,” he says, “but Hux is fine, if that’s better for you.”

Damien rolls his eyes with unmistakable fondness, which is a bizarre choice for a home invader. “You can just say which one you prefer, you know. It’s your name.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Huxley shrugs, and you can tell they’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “I don’t really mind, you know? Like, whichever one you say, I still know what you mean, ‘cause it’s all still me. And anyway, if I changed my mind, I’d just say later.”

He grins, sharp and painfully handsome, and turns his head to look past Damien over to the loveseat, where you belatedly realise Gavin and his human, um, friend from before are sprawled out across the cushions.

“Besides, I feel like there’s worse culprits, y’know?”

Damien drops his head in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on Freelancer.”

Apparently-Freelancer lifts a lazy middle finger in his direction. “It gets the point across, doesn’t it?”

“There’s got to be more to a name than just gets the point across,” he moans. “Just because you happen to be a Freelancer doesn't mean that's all you are.”

They huff, turning their face away haughtily. “It’s a name if I say it's a name.”

“It's literally a nickname! You have a different name! That we know and also call you!”

Freelancer’s eyes narrow wickedly. “Want me to choose a different nickname?”

Gavin lifts his head interestedly from where he’s draped across their lap. “I might have some suggestions-”

“No!” shrieks Damien, and the temperature in the room unexpectedly spikes as he flops backwards against the sofa cushions, decidedly not looking over at the loveseat. “God, no, we already hear enough of those when you’re-”

“Jesus,” Lasko mutters as he comes in through the door behind you, silently passing you a glass of water and motioning for you to sit down in the one empty armchair that's opposite the sofa. “Sorry about them. It happens a lot.”

You nod noncommittally as you sit down, watching it all with a sort of vague detachment as he goes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Huxley. The three of them are facing you across the coffee table, with Gavin and Freelancer occupying the loveseat on the right, and something about the way they’re all looking at you is strangely… interrogative? Like you’re here for the world’s weirdest job interview or something - like they’re trying to get the measure of you.

It’s quite awkward, to be honest. You take a sip of your water, feeling oddly grateful for Lasko’s foresight about not having to wonder what to do with your hands.

“Okay, look.”

Damien breaks the ice, leaning forward slightly as he looks seriously at you. “This is going to sound kind of - kind of unusual. And we get that. But it’s true, and you deserve to know, so we’ll just… we’ll just say it, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath. Huxley quietly holds out his hand, palm up, and Damien takes it.

“When you bought this place, they told you about the previous owners, right?”

You nod, remembering that uncomfortable meeting with the estate agent. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re, um…” Damien’s gaze slides to the side, uncomfortable, before returning to you. “You’re looking at them, I’m afraid.”

Sorry, you’re what?

He gives you a second to process that, not that a second is nearly enough, and carries on. “All of us owned this house before you. Whenever they said anything about previous occupants, or ex-tenants, or whatever bullshit word they used - they were talking about us.”

“You’re joking,” you manage to force out, incredulous. “But you - she said you - she said-”

“That we died?” says Gavin, with a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. No, no - that’s impossible!”

Your mind reels in confusion at this utterly bizarre story, trying to make sense of it all. So what - so they’re all dead, then? Like, ghosts or something? That can’t be right - the closest thing you’ve ever heard of to that were Shades, and they definitely aren’t Shades.

There’s no magic in the world that can reanimate the dead. For as long as humans have had magic, they’ve tried and tried, but it just doesn’t work. So what the hell are these people playing at?

(And anyway, didn’t the woman at the estate agency say there were four ex-tenants? How can there suddenly be five of them?)

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re joking. This has to be a joke.”

“I said the same thing,” Lasko says mournfully, looking down at the floor. “If it is a joke, it looks like it’s on us.”

“You’re magical, right?”

Freelancer’s voice is quiet, but something about it is strangely urgent. “You can feel other people’s auras, can’t you?”

“Yes…?” you reply, unsure of what they’re getting at. “What about it?”

“We are, too,” they say, and a flame dances to life in their palm. “So shouldn’t you be able to feel us?”

Reflexively, your aura ripples around you as you search for what you know must be right in front of you - they’re doing magic right now, so surely you’ll be able to feel something…?

Nothing. Not them, not anyone else. It’s as if nobody’s there at all - only that insistent thrum of magic that flows through the bones of this house, that you remember thinking was unusually strong. Those noises you couldn’t explain, things in strange places that shouldn’t have been able to move. You’ve never had to water the plants once.

Was this what that feeling was all along? Were they what you were feeling?

You don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t be possible.

“I don’t get it,” you mumble, feeling awfully small and scared. “I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Then we’ll explain it a different way,” says Huxley, with so much patience that you could almost cry. “Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He starts to stand up like he’s going to come over to you, but there’s not really any room on the chair next to you, so he just sort of awkwardly sits back down again. “Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Lasko?”

Lasko waves, an awkward little half-gesture. “Hi.”

You take another sip of your water - it’s slightly lukewarm now, but it’s still comforting.

“I was - well, I was first,” he says, trembling fingers tugging at his necklace chain again. “I used to work at DAMN, like you, and I ended up renting this place - I remember thinking it was unusually cheap, but I needed somewhere to live, right?”

He laughs, slightly shakily. “I guess it must have been a problem with the electrics, or something, ‘cause I’m sure it wasn’t me. But I was in the, um - I was in the bath, and I remember the lights flickering like there was a storm, or something? It felt odd, like something in the air, and there must have been a power surge…”

A horrible feeling blossoms in the pit of your stomach when you realise what he’s saying - he must see it on your face, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t really know how it actually happened…? I mean, I think it was a heart attack, or it stopped my heart or something like that, but I - I guess I normally just say I got electrocuted. It’s - uh, I mean, I don’t have to explain it a lot, but it’s easier than saying the whole thing, I think.”

Dimly, you recall the estate agent’s voice in your head. An electrical fault.

“Afterwards, the rental company didn’t want the place anymore,” Lasko says, surprisingly cheerily. “You can’t really blame them, though.”

“I think you can,” grumbles Freelancer. “They did kill you.”

Lasko shrugs. “How were they supposed to know?”

“They sold you a house that zapped you to death!”

“They rented me a house that zapped me to death,” Lasko fires back, waving a hand in Freelancer’s direction as they stick their tongue out at him. “It’s probably different.”

Damien rolls his eyes - you’re getting the distinct impression he does that a lot - and elbows Huxley lightly in the side. “For the love of God, please distract them.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, and turns to you. “I used to be a student at DAMN, and I needed somewhere to live after the semester ended, right? Like, my lease was up, and I didn't really know what I was gonna do - you know what it's like.”

“You were at DAMN?” you ask, surprised. “What were you studying?”

“Oh, uh, Earth Elemental Studies,” Huxley replies, with a melancholy smile. “I had a teaching gig lined up for after graduation, but… you know.”

He gestures down at himself and shrugs. Lasko looks away.

“I ended up renting this place after Lasko had his, uh, accident - they said everything had been fixed, but I guess they didn't get it all…? The weather in Dahlia isn't normally so bad, so I must've just been unlucky with the storm. You know how the ceiling in the kitchen is a different colour to the walls? Like it's been repaired recently?”

Oh, you have a bad feeling about this. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “It, uh… well, it wasn't like that before I moved in.”

Fucking hell. When she said there has been an issue with the roof she’d been putting it mildly.

Huxley must see your horrified expression, quickly cutting back in. “Don’t worry about it, dude - it didn't hurt that bad, not for long. It was pretty quick, when you think about it.”

“I mean, most people don't like thinking about it at all,” Damien murmurs under his breath. “We’re not exactly in the majority here.”

Huxley tips his head to the side in acquiescence. “It was a while ago. Gotta get over this kind of shit eventually.”

Gavin’s jaw drops. “You're over it?”

“Well, no…” he replies. “But it'll probably happen at some point, yeah?”

Freelancer, half-buried underneath their human-blanket (demon-blanket?) over on the loveseat, blinks in apparent wonder. “Hux, you're my hero.”

Huxley grins. “Don't let Gav hear you saying that.”

“Oh, he's not listening,” they scoff, tipping Gavin’s face up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you, darling?”

Gavin shakes his head, eyes closed and wearing a wide, lazy smile. “Didn't hear a thing.”

Damien sighs fondly at their antics, gaze all soft and sticky, before turning back to you. “In any case, I was the next one. Moved in a few weeks after the storm, when they said everything was fixed. When they were telling you about us, did anyone mention a fall?”

You’d been kind of preoccupied by the more unusual deaths, so you don't really remember if the lady did or not, but it sounds about right. “I think so…?”

“Then there's not much more to say.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I was rushing, and I slipped - it's my own fault, really. I’d overslept and I thought I was going to be late for a lecture, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. You know how slippery the stairs can get.”

You wince. “They’re pretty bad, yeah.”

“You'd have thought they'd at least put some carpet down or something after I died, but apparently not,” Damien grumbles. “First they had to dig Hux out from under whatever cheap roofing shit they had before, then five minutes later we were all watching some poor contractor scrubbing my goddamned blood out of the floorboards, because it would have been too fucking expensive to replace it all - do they just like having to scrape their tenants off the floor, or something? Because that's what would have happened to you earlier if we hadn't done anything, for fuck’s sake…”

He looks up sharply when he says that, like he's just remembered something. “Oh, um - yeah, that was us. Sorry about that. But also, like, the espresso-Monster thing you drank probably wasn’t the best breakfast.”

This morning. All those things that didn't add up. Falling down the stairs, and landing at the top of them. That was them?

“How did it…” You're not quite sure how to put it. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, you can thank Lasko for that,” he replies. “He managed to slow you down enough that Gavin was able to heal you without anything being too serious.”

You look over at Lasko, nervously waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll ward off any sort of thanks. “It was just luck, that's all! I just, you know - I was in the right place at the right time, and I - well, the whole air thing is kind of easy for me, so it wasn't even that complicated or anything - I mean, not that it wasn't important, obviously, but-”

“Lasko.”

“Yes?”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Nervously, he smiles back, with an charmingly-awkward little thumbs up. “Not, uh, no problem.”

“If you’re trying to join us, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Damien quips, blackly. “Dying like that isn't fun, believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say. “Next time, I’ll just let the caffeine poison me all by itself.”

He nods approvingly, the hint of a held-back smile brightening his handsome face. “See, now you’re getting it.”

Idly, you lift the glass to your mouth, only to realise that - wait, it’s empty? No, it can’t be. When did you drink all of that? How bizarre. Hearing about people dying must be thirsty work. Quietly, you put it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Freelancer.”

“Mm?” Freelancer looks up, distracted from whatever sweet nothings Gavin seems to be mumbling into their neck. “What?”

Damien tips his head slightly in your direction. “You’re up to bat, I’m afraid.”

“Already? That was quick.” With a little bit of fidgeting, they push themselves up to sit facing you, one hand holding Gavin’s, and the other around his back as he sits sideways with his legs across their lap.

“So, it’s… it’s not the nicest thing,” they say, eyes darting away before sliding back to meet yours. “And it probably isn’t going to make a huge amount of sense, just ‘cause when the - actually, that reminds me - did they say something about a break-in? And - and a trespasser?”

The most recent. Altercation with an intruder. Highly unusual. Shouldn’t happen again.

You look down. “They did, yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly true,” Freelancer says, “although it’s not the full thing. The unempowered police had to come and investigate, and that was the best they could come up with, so that’s what the estate agent will have told you.”

“Was it magical, then?” you ask, slightly hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” they reply hesitantly. “I’d only just moved here to come to DAMN. I was humanborn, so I didn’t really know a whole lot about magic, but I had a - well, there was an… uh…”

Nervously, they look at Gavin - he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and they swallow.

“I heard about DAMN from a friend, so I thought it would be good to come and try and learn some, like, actual magic, right? And Gavin and I met here, just after I moved - it’s kind of a long story, but he ended up basically moving in here as well after a while. So that’s why we - well, that’s how we’re, uh, here. Together.”

Their leg bounces as they tap their heel against the floor, over and over. You’re not getting the feeling that this story is going to end well.

“There was a… a problem,” they mumble, after a little pause. “A friend of ours was being chased by a demon - a different demon, a really strong one, who we didn’t know. He was hurt, so he came here for help - but the demon chasing him followed him here.”

Attacked? By a demon? God, what sort of city is this? If this is the sort of thing that’s happening here, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you don’t go out much.

Freelancer continues, gaze now fixed firmly on their feet. “He attacked us - and our friend. There was no time to do anything, so we - we did what we could, but…”

Gavin’s tail wraps and unwraps around Freelancer’s wrist, winding around their arm first one way, then the other.

“This demon, he was… powerful,” he says, carefully. “He was old - much older than me, and it wasn’t exactly like we could have seen him coming. We were lucky to do as much as we did.”

Silently, Lasko picks up your glass from the coffee table, and walks out of the living room.

“Our friend got away, at least,” Freelancer says, through what you think is meant to be a smile. “And we did sort-of win - Gavin managed to knock him out, and took him to the Department. He’s probably in a prison somewhere, now.”

So… they won? But then how are they…?

Freelancer must see the question written across your face. “By the time Gavin got him, I’d already, um… you know. The old coffee table in here was pretty heavy, and when it hit me, it was kind of, uh - yeah. It wasn’t great.”

The thought of it turns your blood to ice. They died in here? This room? The same room you’re in right now, where they’re sitting on the loveseat like it’s nothing - this room? How can they even stand to be in here like this, after everything that’s happened?

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you manage to say, painfully aware of how hollow it must sound. “That must have been awful.”

Strangely enough, they shake their head. “Gavin got the worst of it. The rift, when he came back…”

They trail off into silence, and Gavin doesn’t say anything either. Frozen in place, unmoving - like this, they could almost be stone. Alive and undead. Sobbing but never crying, rainwater dripping down the marble.

“When we died, we became… this.”

You look over at Huxley, speaking softly. “We can’t be seen by living people, and we can’t leave this place. Touching objects - like, physical stuff like doors and books and water - it takes more effort, but it’s still okay. We can still do most magic, too, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”

You nod, slightly confused. Why is he telling you this now…?

“It happens pretty quickly,” he adds, “the whole transformation, resurrection, whatever. But it… well. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to kill a human.”

Gavin’s voice is raw and venomous, glaring at the floor, fangs bared in a bitter snarl.

“Demons last a little bit longer.”

In your mind’s eye, the horrifying scene unfolds. A human body, shattered and bloody, lifted gently from the wreckage and cradled in the fading arms of a dying demon. Gavin, tears streaming down his crumbling face, clutching the corpse of his human lover - no magic left, an immortal being surrendering to an impossible death. Freelancer, imprisoned in the silent space between sleeping and waking, screaming in terror yet doomed to go unheard. Forced to watch as Gavin’s form falters and dissolves, scattered back into the nothingness of stardust.

Of course. Five deaths, four tenants. No body left to bury.

There’s nothing you can say to that. Nothing at all.

Behind you, Lasko comes back in from the kitchen, passing you a refilled glass of water before walking back over to the sofa. It’s freezing cold in your hand, and you can’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Ow!”

Startled, all of your heads snap towards Lasko - he’s tripped over the stack of papers that you were marking last night, catching himself on the side of the loveseat and accidentally smacking face-first into Gavin’s shoulder. Freelancer jerks backwards out of the way as he hisses in surprise, jolting forwards with the unexpected weight against his back, and Damien bursts into laughter as Lasko stutters his way through a flustered apology, wrenching himself back upright and scurrying off to the sofa to hide behind Huxley.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t see it - I just tripped, and oh, I didn’t mean to hit you - are you okay? Like, I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, I don’t know how I forgot it was there - and your back, are you-”

“If you want to get your hands on me, you can just ask,” Gavin purrs over the top of him, rubbing his shoulder blade where Lasko’s face presumably impacted with the flat spade of his tail. “And yes, I’m fine, thank you. Unless you wanted to kiss it better?”

Lasko’s breath visibly stops, the poor thing, as Gavin fixes him with a smirk so ridiculously charming that you almost can’t tear your eyes away. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, wicked gaze dragging slowly down the length of Lasko’s body, painted claws catching the light as they just barely start to flirt with the hem of Freelancer’s shirt…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Huxley trying not to laugh as Lasko peeks out from over his shoulder. “Keep it together there, Gav. We’ve got an audience, y’know.”

Lasko buries his face in his hands. “Please, God, don’t-”

“Oh, Hux,” Gavin sighs plaintively, although the impish smile across his face gives him away. “Why do you think I offered?”

A quiet rustle of fabric, and underneath him, Freelancer lets out a long, slow breath that you hadn’t noticed they were holding. You, um… you can’t see the end of Gavin’s tail any more, and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know where it is.

“I’m so sorry,” Damien groans, flinging a stray sofa cushion at Gavin’s head as he gives you an apologetic look, ignoring the confused squawking from the loveseat when it accidentally hits Freelancer in the shoulder and ricochets into Gavin’s face. “You’re all dead to me.”

Huxley pats him on the shoulder. “We’re dead to everyone, babe.”

“Not helping.”

“Love you too.”

“That was so rude!” comes a gasp from your right. Amused, you look over to find an outraged Gavin, holding up the projectile cushion in one clawed hand, eyes narrowed sulkily at Damien for ruining the fun. “Don’t you think, deviant?”

Freelancer nods sagely. “Very rude.”

“He didn’t even let us finish! We could have been doing something entirely innocent.”

“We’re so nice to him, and he’s always so mean to us.”

“Spoiling our fun.”

“Getting in our way.”

“Getting in our bed-”

“Will you two stop it!” Damien hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Gavin when the demon actually hisses back at him. “I wouldn’t have to be rude if you two would stop being so - so… lascivious!”

Freelancer grins, eyes scrunched up into happy little half-moons and arms wrapped possessively around Gavin’s waist. “He thinks we’re lascivious.”

“What about tea?” interrupts Lasko, standing up suddenly and motioning behind his back for you to follow him. “We’ll have tea, that’ll be nice, does anyone want some? Good, okay, we’ll just go and make the - the, um - we’ll just go, won’t be long, back in a minute-”

You’re not sure if ghosts can get high blood pressure, but you say a silent prayer for whatever nightmare must be going on in Damien’s undead arteries. Huxley jokingly salutes the pair of you as you scramble after Lasko - shaky hands all but push you out of the door, and he pulls it swiftly shut behind him with a decisive psychokinetic flourish, muffling the enthusiastic bickering inside.

It's finally quiet again.

Just you and Lasko.

“Is it always like this?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, laughing weakly. “Basically, yeah.”

Well. Considering everything that could have gone wrong with finding out that your house is haunted and practically infested with the undead, at least the ghosts that you've got are fun ghosts.

“Kind of you to volunteer my tea for everyone,” you say breezily, motioning for Lasko to follow you into the kitchen and stifling your smile when his face turns to almost comical panic. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are - are you sure?” He wrings his hands as he trails after you, teeth digging into his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Sorry, I just - we’d be there all day otherwise, and I just wanted to distract them for a bit, but I didn’t really think about it, you know, and…”

He takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “I mean, uh, thank you.”

The kettle’s empty, so you go to fill it up at the sink while Lasko silently gets some mugs out of the cupboard, along with a handful of teaspoons and some teabags.

Too silently, in fact.

“Tea’s in the right hand drawer, by the way.”

Lasko freezes guiltily as you say it, wrist deep in the box of Earl Grey. “You know. Because I didn’t tell you, so there’s no way you could have known.”

He winces. “Sorry…”

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could be looking at.” You’re not actually that angry, all things considered, but it needs to be said. “Do I need a ghost-proof shower curtain, too?”

“What? No - God, no!” he stammers, seemingly horrified by the implication. “I swear none of us would do anything like that - we would never! We have never! No, that’d be - no!”

He shakes his head emphatically, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. “We don’t go into the bathroom when you’re there, and your bedroom is always off-limits. Promise. You can ask the others.”

“I should hope so.” Next to you, the kettle starts to steam, although it’s not quite hot enough yet. “Am I - wait, you were the first one, right?”

He nods, quietly shuffling through the tea drawer again. “Yeah.”

“Could the others see you… before? Like me?” you ask, walking over to the fridge. “Milk?”

“If that’s okay.”

Without looking, you reach in and grab the carton, before putting it down on the counter next to him. “I just don’t understand. How come I can see you now, but I couldn’t before?”

“That’s what we were talking about before you came in,” he replies. “Hux thinks it’s something to do with this morning - like, that you had some sort of near-death experience? And then that means you can see us, because we’re dead and you were nearly-dead…? I don’t know, it’s a work in progress.”

Wait, so does that mean you actually did poison yourself this morning? Or is he talking about falling down the stairs? Of course you’d accidentally manage to find a way to nearly kick the bucket twice in a single day. What a liability they all must think you are…

“The others couldn’t see like you do,” Lasko continues, oblivious to your spiralling. “Not until they were already gone. You’re the first one who’s been able to see us while you were still - actually, um, that reminds me…”

The kettle clicks, having boiled. He reaches over to get it, but you wave him away, picking it up and moving to fill up the collection of mugs - and, oddly, an entire teapot that you’re sure you’ve never seen before - he’s arranged on the countertop.

“If you wanted to leave now that you’ve heard all of - uh, all of this… well, we wouldn’t be upset. We’re not gonna, like, make you stay here or anything.”

Confused, you frown down at the mug in front of you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, ah…” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him fiddling with his necklace again. “We’re not the luckiest people in the world. None of us lasted very long in this house - and the whole ‘being undead’ thing isn’t really something we understand. Like, why us? What did we ever do? Is it the house? Is it us? Is it, like, destiny or fate or something - because it kind of brings up a whole new set of problems about the existence of life after death - and, you know, are we the only ghosts in the world, and if so then why, or are there others? Does this happen to everyone, and living people just can’t see them? We wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out before, you know…”

You put the kettle back on the stand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop for breath any time soon.

“Not that we’re going to like, do something to you! No, no, that’s - I didn’t mean we were going to kill you or anything - oh, fuck, now it just sounds like we were going to do something and now I’ve put the fucking idea in your head, and now you’re going to be all stressed about it, and, like, ‘is it cursed?’ - and it’s not cursed, I think, but we don’t know for sure because even though curses aren’t a thing like unempowered people say, none of us have been able to figure out if there’s any, uh - any magic that might be like a curse, right?

“Lasko.”

“Just, you know, magic is so unpredictable and there’s so much we don’t know, so maybe it is cursed but we just can’t recognise it because we don’t know what we’re even looking for, and Gavin’s been trying to come up with ideas, but it’s been really difficult ‘cause we didn’t want to use your computer or anything, that’s a huge breach of privacy, right? And - and we can’t leave the house to go and talk to anyone - well, really it’s the property, so we can still go out in the garden and stuff - which reminds me, I was meant to tell you about-”

“Lasko!”

You can practically see the words falling out of his mouth before he cuts himself off, the poor thing. “Mm-hmm?”

“The tea,” you say calmly, stepping back from the counter to give him room. “I don’t know how they like it.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll, um - I can do that.”

He starts sorting out the different mugs, taking teabags out of some sooner than others, adding milk and sugar and what-have-you, leaving one to the side for you and nervously chattering away.

“I’ll never understand how Gavin and Hux have it so sweet - although, I think Gavin’s like that with everything, you know? He says it’s just because he likes the taste, but Damien told me - um, you shouldn’t say I said this, but he thinks when Gavin gave himself a human form - ‘cause demons don’t have physical bodies normally, right? Well, Damien thinks he accidentally got his body addicted to sugar or something like that, because - oh, I don't know, something, something, pleasure centres or pleasure receptors, whatever - it probably lit up a similar part of his brain to the bit that he associated with eating, and being full - wait, did he say he was an incubus? Because he is, he definitely is - oh, we probably should have mentioned that…”

Slowly, Lasko’s voice settles into the back of your mind as you make your tea, head too full of everything else he’s said to really be listening. It’s not on purpose. You’ve just got a lot to think about.

Yes, he makes a good point about the house, and the strange coincidences that have happened here. Yes, he makes a good point about what might happen to you if you choose to stay. Yes, he makes a good point about how you’ll have to actually accept the undeniable proof of the existence of life after death, and everything that means for your worldview.

Looking up, your eyes are drawn to the faint line where the ceiling and the wall meet, and the two shades of paint that don’t quite match.

Wow. In about an hour, this is going to be a magnificent existential crisis.

But those aren’t problems for now, are they? If you try and deal with all of this at once, you’re fairly sure your head is going to explode just thinking about it. All of this, all of the fucked-up undead weirdness that’s just fallen into your lap out of thin air - all of it can wait.

First, tea.

Lasko seems to have sorted out all the different cups of tea, stirring a final spoonful of sugar into the one second from the right with one hand. Luckily, he’s picked cups that are all different colours, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too hard to stop them getting mixed up.

“That one’s for Hux, then Damien’s is the jasmine, then the middle one is for Freelancer. Gavin’s is the penguin one, and then this one is for me.”

He points at them from left to right, explaining whose they are as you get a tray out of the cupboard and put it down on the counter. You’re just about to start transferring everything onto it when - oh, that’s what’s missing!

Lasko takes over, looking confused as you suddenly turn on your heel and start rifling through the cupboard by the microwave. “Are you… okay?”

“Just a second…” Where are they? You could have sworn they were just… ah, there they are. You’ll have to get some more at the supermarket when you go next. “Do you think they’ll want plates?”

Lasko’s face brightens when he sees what you’re holding, and it belatedly occurs to you that he probably hasn’t eaten much since - well, since everything. If the owner of the house can’t see you, then they’re not going to give you anything, and if you can’t leave the house, you can’t buy anything yourself. If he’s a demon, then maybe Gavin could magic something up, but didn’t Huxley say that doing magic was harder for all of them then it used to be? What’s the limit?

Besides, even if ghosts probably don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean that they can’t, right? It might not be necessary, but it might still be nice.

“Mm, probably not,” Lasko muses, but he gets a few out of the cupboard anyway as you open the packet of biscuits and put it down on the tray next to Freelancer’s tea. “I don’t think they’ll, uh, last that long.”

He moves the penguin mug slightly to make room for the teapot and an empty cup - oh, that must be the jasmine tea he was talking about. But where did he…?

“Damien used to have one like this.”

Lasko’s voice is quiet, presumably having noticed you staring in confusion at the tray. “It got taken away with all his things when Freelancer moved in, but Gavin made him a new one. The cup, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

He looks away, eyes closed. There’s not really anything you can say to that.

“If there’s…”

As you speak, you can hear the faintest sound of laughter from the other room. Presumably they’ve kissed and made up, in what you get the feeling isn’t always an entirely metaphorical sense. “If there’s anything I can get you, then you just need to ask. Anything.”

Lasko smiles down at the tray, and you don’t look at how his eyes are a little bit shinier than they were a minute ago. “Thanks.”

“Come on, then,” you say with a smile, nudging him out of the way and picking up the tray. “It’ll be stone cold in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Lasko protests, fluttering around beside you as you head back towards the living room, insisting that he doesn’t want to be rude, please please please let him carry it, it was his idea and now you’re doing all the work, oh he’s so sorry - but you don’t let him. It’s a bit heavy, but it’s not that bad, and didn’t one of them say that it’s harder to interact with physical objects now than it was when they were alive? You don’t know exactly how much harder, but you’d feel kind of bad if you made Lasko hold all the stuff when it’s not as easy for him.

Darting ahead of you down the corridor, he opens the living room door for you, and you - well, you were going to put it down on the coffee table in the middle, but it’s not actually there anymore. Instead, it’s been pushed out of the way towards the window, to make space for the sofa to be tilted a little bit more towards the TV.

Lasko, the bastard, takes advantage of your momentary surprise. You’re going to have to ask if he’s an Air Elemental or something, because you feel a suspiciously-timed air current rushing past your arm and almost pushing the tray towards him, letting him lift it deftly out of your hands and carry it over.

Freelancer and Gavin, chastised but utterly unrepentant, appear to have commandeered most of the sofa, along with its previous occupants. Huxley idly strokes his fingers over Gavin’s horns as Freelancer flips through channels on the TV, while Damien, sitting cross-legged on the rug against the front of the sofa, pats the ground next to him when Lasko bends down to put his teapot and cup in front of him.

“Join me. I’ve been exiled.”

“We’ll call the Pope,” Lasko replies thoughtfully, “he might be able to get you excommunicated as well. Two for one.”

Damien raises an eyebrow, just barely failing to resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See, now you’re talking.”

Lasko laughs, standing back up and offering the tray to the others on the sofa. “Clever of you to move the table out of the way,” he notes dryly, as Freelancer goes to take their tea from the tray and recoils at the heat of the ceramic. “Do you want me to leave it over there until it cools down?”

Huxley nods gratefully, taking a biscuit from the packet and batting away Gavin’s tail without even looking when the incubus tries to surreptitiously steal it out of his hand. “Aw, would you? Thanks, dude.”

Now that he says it, that might actually be a good idea - you reach over to get a biscuit for yourself as well, before going round to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Freelancer while Lasko puts the tray down on the coffee table. They seem to have found a programme they like, some cooking competition show you’ve never seen, and pass the remote down to Damien with a satisfied hum so he can put it on the floor next to him.

“Is this a new series?” he asks quietly, head resting against the side of their leg. “I thought you already watched all of them.”

Freelancer shrugs, absentmindedly twirling Gavin’s tail between their fingers as he readjusts his legs across their lap. “We did, yeah. But this one is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passes in something of a blur - warm tea and good company and some truly ridiculous commentary on the TV that has you laughing harder than you think you have in weeks, maybe even months. After the first programme finishes and the next one is starting, Damien seems to remember that you’d never actually had that dinner you were going to make, and drags you into the kitchen to get you something a bit more substantial than a biscuit.

Gavin trails after you, too, sitting himself on the countertop next to the fridge and watching you two cook. It doesn’t seem malicious or mean - rather, his eyes follow you curiously around the room in a way that distinctly reminds you of an intrigued housecat. He seems to have magicked up a lollipop or something to amuse himself with as well, idly moving the stick back and forth in his mouth as the hard sugar clicks against his teeth.

The feline comparison apparently occurs to Damien as well, who, for some reason, quickly moves everything within about a metre of the fridge on the counter out of easy reach. At first you’re surprised, but then you see Gavin’s tail droop in mock-disappointment, hanging limply down in front of the cabinets, and you realise what’s going on.

“Don’t mind him,” he stage-whispers to you as you wait for the stove to heat up. “He’s not so bad. Freelancer just spoils him something rotten.”

Gavin sniffs haughtily, clawed fingers pulling the - apparently heart-shaped - lolly out of his mouth and sticking his red-stained tongue out at Damien. “I am very cute and sexy and worthy of spoiling.”

“What you are is in the way, genius,” Damien replies, deadpan, pointing at the cutlery drawer that Gavin’s legs are currently blocking. “Fork, please.”

You can practically see Gavin vibrating as he tries to hold back the obvious joke, in favour of reaching down and taking a metal fork from the drawer, holding it out in one hand.

“Ah, ah-”

He snatches it back when Damien reaches for it, holding out the lollipop in his other hand instead. “I got you a present.”

Damien eyes it with interest, shiny and red, and you’re not sure if you should still be watching. “What flavour?”

“Cherry.”

Damien thinks about it for a second, before opening his mouth and letting Gavin put the lolly on his tongue. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Gavin smirks lazily, and hands him the fork. “Mwah.”

Neither of them seem embarrassed afterwards, like it was something you weren’t supposed to see, or like they’d forgotten you were there. It’s… kind of pleasant, in an unexpected way. Being around people who are funny, who are friendly, who don’t seem to be uncomfortable around you. You don’t really know anyone like that in Dahlia yet, and you hadn’t realised quite how much you’d missed it until now.

It’s just the same when you go back into the living room to eat, sitting properly on the sofa this time, next to Huxley. All of them just seem so nice - a far cry from the terrifying criminals you’d thought they might have been. Just ordinary, good people. Sweet and kind and silly. The sort of people that you’ve always wanted to be friends with, but that you’ve never been good at finding.

Damien makes a joke about one of the cooking judges on the screen, and Lasko splutters as he laughs and his tea goes down the wrong way. Huxley wraps his arm around Gavin’s waist to pull him closer against his side, and Freelancer follows suit, draping themselves over Gavin’s back and gleefully making themself comfortable on his shoulder.

There’s a lot to think about, that much is clear. The reality of the situation, the fear of what might be waiting for you if you choose to stay - in a very real sense, they might very well be the death of you. But looking around at them, these people, trusting you with their secret and hoping that you’ll keep it for them, you’re struck with a new and frightening question.

Maybe it really is dangerous. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life - the end of your life. But could you do it? Could you walk away now, knowing what you know, and not regret it?

Lasko leans his head against the front of the sofa, turning his head slightly to look up at you, and gives you a tiny, bashful wave with one hand.

You wave back. He smiles, warm light reflecting softly off his glasses, and perhaps the question isn’t quite as frightening as it used to be.

masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fluff #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted dear #redacted damn polycule #redacted damn crew #redacted fic #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

54 notes · View notes

lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Text

A highly requested sequel to this imagine

I hope you all love it, I put my all into it and I still feel like it could be better, UGH 💀

Taglist: @daleyeahson @thegemaqua @quinnyfairy @ali-r3n @josephfakingquinn @mybffjoe @cinemaquinn @tlclick73 @live-love-be-unique @marveltramp @aysheashea @palomahasenteredthechat @psycheberenike @josephquinnswife @ireneeee00 @lovelyblueness @lifealwayslearning @pizzafreak220 @emma77645 @ellen-m-ichiban81 @noirrose21-blog

Word Count: 4.3k (my longest JQ imagine to date)

There was no one who completely engulfed your mind like him; a close friend from over the years that you'd grown up with who had become so much more than a friend in your head. The feelings were unfathomable and you couldn't control them near as much as you'd hoped to. The way you clearly flirted around him to see if he'd catch your drift, he never did. The way you'd touch him softly and the way you'd take his soft features in, the way he spoke to you, the way he called you love, pretty, HIS darling girl. The way he looked at you gave you hope, but to no avail. To some it probably meant nothing, but to you; it was everything. So it was a thing that you just fantasised about almost every single day and you'd continue to keep your mouth shut on the basis of not wanting to ruin the closeness you already held with Joe, it had to be enough.

It wasn't just the things that you did to try and prove a point, Joe's features were in engraved in your mind, his eyes being your personal favourite - they held a thousand secrets yet screamed a million words, just not ones of mutual emotion, or so you thought. His sarcasm, the little cheeky side to him but also the shy side to him, his ability to make you laugh in any mood and then join you in chuckling slight when he heard you giggle, his toothy grin enough to heal the world, the way his hands soothed your back when he gave you a hug, the way he'd make time for you even out of your friendship circle. There was just no point in denying that you couldn't quit the way you felt, he gave you a new excuse to fall down deeper every day.

Your phone rang interrupting your thoughts as you laid alone in your bed that evening, the man himself popped up on your screen, his contact photo of him crossing his eyes and making the most idiotic of faces had you smiling, he cursed you for keeping that photo he took every god damn day, but it was impossible to remove it from your camera roll and the image was practically tattooed onto your eyelids, you could picture it now without even looking. You tapped answer and held the phone to your ear immediately before you unintentionally missed the call.

"Hello." You tried to sound the upmost upbeat, yet it came out profoundly louder than you thought.

"Hello love, I was bored so I thought I'd distract you from whatever you were doing." He was distracting you from himself inside your head, the real thing was much better though.

"Oh how gentlemanly of you, well I'm doing nothing so you made a good decision." There was the flirty act again.

"That's me! Best damn gentleman you'll ever meet." You giggled at his involuntary cockiness yet sarcastic remark.

You talked shit for at least an hour, general chit chat yet laughing over conversations you'd probably had at least 20 times, yet they were still as hilarious as the last time. The moment you yawned had him sighing over the other end of the phone.

"Am I boring you, pretty? Does Y/N need her beauty sleep?"

"Y/N does. Y/N also needs Joe to shut up talking trash about her being pretty." You don't know why you came out with that last part, maybe it was to try and avoid the butterflies that erupted into the pit of your stomach when he embedded the nickname he often called you into your ear drum whilst you were cosy and comfy in bed. You'd shut your eyes, placing your phone onto the pillow with him on loud speaker as if he were there next to you, minus the contact.

"What if I mean it? I'm not going to stop if I'm telling the truth now am I?" Joe muttered, the way he was biting down on his lip revelling in the way the same butterflies practically punched his insides.

"Well do you?" Your eyes flung open, staring to the phone inches away from your head, curious as to why you hadn't shut yourself up yet and ended the conversation before.

"Always, babe." Babe. That was new.

Becoming as ignorant as you could've been, shooting your walls straight up that were already barricading your emotions towards your friend, you said goodnight eventually after trying to find the right words to say, it took every ounce of you not to just blurt out the words I LIKE YOU, NOTICE ME. And just like that, once you'd hung up, the thoughts took over more than ever as you tried to ignore the heat growing between your thighs. Just two words had drove you and the entirety of your body insane, it was the tone of voice he'd uttered those two words together that made it so perfect, you had to relieve yourself of the tension you'd created alone, the fact you relished in his voice now carved into your thoughts made your fingers wander downward as you laid bare, stroking a straight line through your slit making you shudder, goose bumps caressing your skin like Joe had put them there.

Spreading your legs further apart to open up wide for your hand to gain perfect access, you spat onto your fingers, lapping it straight onto your clit, lathering what was already becoming a mess on your cunt, your hole gaped at nothingness as you shut your eyes and began to imagine Joe's face pressed between your legs, humming as his tongue flickered over your aching bud, staring up at you with his sparkling brown eyes, you'd of liked to think he was enjoying what he saw, the way you squirmed your hips, bucking them upward as his lips sucked harshly. You bit down on your lip, muffling the moans escaping you, it truly never felt the same on your own and even though you'd never felt his touch, you just knew it had to be a million times better than anyone's; including yours.

You were too busy to notice that your phone had slipped under your elbow and that you'd unintentionally leaned on the answer button when Joe was calling once more, bad timing. You were too involved in reaching your climax to hear him shout your name when you didn't reply, he shut up when he heard the borderline pornographic noises from the receiving end. You were also to busy to notice that he'd heard your fingers faintly fucking your pussy at a marvellous speed and as soon as you groaned "Ugh, yes fuck me Joey" he hung up. He knew instantly that you were referring to him, you only called him Joey - heck there were no other Joseph's that you were actually friends with that he knew of.

Your body relaxed instantly tightening from a surge of power that rushed through your body when you hit the spot, moving your fingers into the weak place over and over saw electricity jolting up in your stomach as you slowly moved and then fastened your pace once more, a sharp breath led you to leaking out onto the sheets, climaxing over the building desire that was your friend's cock fucking you deep. Your thighs shut together as you tried to make the sensitive ache last longer, clenching your walls around the small, narrow length of your two fingers. Not far after you'd laid staring at the ceiling for a while, you dragged yourself to the bathroom to clean up, you swatted your head to the faint knock at the front door, still in a daze yet confused as to who would be paying a visit at this time.

Unknowing to you, the moment Joe had hung up the phone and realised what on earth was obviously happening mirrored the way he'd clearly been masturbating over you earlier that evening. He grabbed his keys, barely pushed his feet into his shoes before he'd launched himself out of the front door of his flat and made a run to the car to get to you as fast as he possibly could. He had to know.

A louder knock came from the door this time as you unhooked your dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, tying the robe up nice and tight and rushing to take your keys to open up. The moment you flung it open, your friend stood before you in a mesmerised state. You furrowed your brow at him, extremely bewildered yet of course in your head and heart, happy to see him. "Hey Joey, um didn't we speak on the phone all of 20 minutes ago, what are you doing here at this hour?"

You stared at each other, his silence actually starting to nerve you a little, it wasn't like Joe to be speechless around you, yet here he was, his mouth opened slightly as if he was going to reply, yet no sound was made. His eyes bore into yours as you blinked back at him. "Is everything... ok?" You asked, tilting your head to the side.

"Did you-" His voice whispered as if he couldn't quite string the words together.

"Did I?" You choked on your reply, giggling at his out of character and way less chaotic and more stern looking behaviour.

You gestured for him to come in, still realising in the last two minutes that you'd not got an answer, that he was still stood out in the corridor that led to your flat. He walked through and leaned his elbows down straight to the countertop beside the door, you shut it and leaned against it, scrunching your face up at his weird etiquette.

"Are you going to tell me what's the matter or am I-"

"Did you moan my name?" Joe blurted out, staring to the ground not being able to even look you in the eye after his organs had pretty much vomited themselves upward the second the words came out of his mouth.

Your jaw fell to the floor, slightly scoffing at his question. "Excuse me?" He looked at you this time.

"You heard what I said Y/N and I'm pretty sure I heard you. Did you moan my name?"

Shit. "I- I-" You stuttered, your cheeks flashing red.

"I called you to tell you something I failed to mention before and you answered but you were clearly busy..." His eyes fell down to your thighs insinuating he knew exactly what you were up too. "But then I heard you moan my-"

You rushed into your bedroom cutting him off, picking up your phone and checking your call log. It was there as clear as day. Incoming call: Joey - 1 minute 42 seconds. Your whole body was sweating, your heart was beating out of your chest at 100 miles per hour. Joe shortly followed after you into your bedroom, slouching on your door frame whilst you sat at the edge of your bed, now you were the one that simply couldn't look him in the eye. You made yourself look as small as possible, lifting your knees up to your face to hug them, gently sitting your chin on top, your arms caging them tightly in a firm grip.

He slowly moved towards you, kneeling down on the floor, resting his hands either side of you onto the sheets. "Y/N?" He was trying to get a response, you owed him your honesty.

"I did." You muttered lowly.

"You meant to?" Joe whispered shyly. A state you'd rarely seen him in before.

"I did." You matched his tone, there was no going back now. Not especially when his hands pushed your shoulders back forcefully, making you land flat down on the mattress, Joe brought himself to the side of you, laying next to you, his doe eyes almost forcing you like a magnet to draw yours to his.

"What were you thinking about?"

"You." You bit down on your lip, speaking the obvious, yet the other obvious thing was that he already knew that, Joe just wanted to hear you say it out loud.

"That's all well and good Y/N, but I need you to be a bit more specific." His face lowered merely inches away from yours, his watch fluttered to your lips a couple of times.

"This is weird, I-I'm sorry." You attempted to sit back up, trying to ignore the situation unravelling before you. Even though you wanted him bad and had done for a long time, he was still only your friend. Joe didn't let you get as far as lifting your back up before his hand pressed against your shoulder again, his fingers playing with the material of your dressing gown as you instantly looked submissive in his touch. "Tell me." He growled.

"The way you would fuck me." You purred.

"Is that what you want?" A rising smirk fell onto his features, his mind was running wild, how could you actually want him as much as he wanted you; yet you both never realised. You nodded to his question and his face lowered fully, his lips pushing themselves firmly to yours as you quickly reciprocated the contact, his hand came up to cup your jaw as your lips moved in unison. His tongue begged for entrance and you gladly let it, the muscles working together to make the open kiss a more desperate one as they writhed around each other sweetly.

Your eyes fluttered open when Joe broke the kiss, a kiss you never thought would ever happen. "Wait is that what you want?" You asked quickly, your nerves only relaxing slight after that reaction. "Because I don't want this to be a pity snog." Joe chuckled at you, snorting laughter from his throat making his cute dimples shine.

"My darling, I've been wanting you for so long it's stupid." Joe smiled truthfully and you believed him, you were both almost completely vulnerable to each other now that the first kiss had come into play so there was no way you were hiding your feelings anymore.

"Wanting to just fuck me? or-"

"Absolutely not. That's what I called for, I wanted to confess how much I like you Y/N, but it's not just that, it's wanting to kiss you, wanting to hold your hand, wanting to hold you at night, wanting to call you mine-"

You cut him off reaching your lips to his once more, passionately smacking your mouth against his, your stomach was doing flips, your heart was punching the air proudly. Joe untied your robe revealing your naked body to him, abruptly stopping the heated moment and giving it a glance over, he sighed returning his gaze to yours. "So beautiful, I told you that you were pretty. I just knew the rest of you would be too. My god."

"So does that mean I can see you?" Joe nodded and stood up before you, you eyed down at his crotch to see his tightening bulge bursting from his zipper line. He stripped completely naked in front of you, not feeling awkward in the slightest as you examined his body, his top half you'd seen before, still as sexy as ever, yet the way your eyes grew a little lower down had him licking his lips, an all too confident smirk hit him. "Fucking hell Quinn, you're big." You blurted out without even thinking and it only made his confidence leap. You removed your dressing gown off of your arms and pushed it to the floor as Joe made a bee line for you as a fire grew in his eyes, your legs spreading apart as they had before but now with the man of your dreams laid between them.

His hands roamed onto your boobs, grabbing hold of them and letting his fingertips massage your nipples, hardening them between his digits. You gasped when his lips latched onto your neck, kissing, nibbling ever so slightly and moving downward to meet his fingers that were kept busy, they moved to the side to squish your breasts closer together, replacing them little flickers of his tongue one at a time, the ache between your legs soaring higher than before.

"What else were you thinking about love?" Joe raised his face to look up at you.

"Your h-head between my legs." You looked downward innocently as if you hadn't just said that.

"Your wish is my command then." He kissed down your stomach, back kneeling down at the end of the bed where he'd started before he'd got the first answer from you that he needed. Reaching his arms out and pulling your thighs, he dominantly took a hold of them, the tips of his fingers moulding into your skin when he dragged you towards him, kissing around your thighs slowly, making the ache only more painful due to his now teasing nature. Joe took one look at your wet slit, massaging his thumb on your folds as he opened them up to the side to get a better view. "Look at that pretty little pussy, all wet, just for me." Joe groaned, his cock clearly reacting to it, his tip twitching as a little pre-cum leaked out, he could've probably came from just staring at your cunt.

Joe spat down onto your clit, using one hand to keep you opened up as his thick finger stroked from top to bottom, the slick instantly coating him. "Fuck she's ready." He let out a breathy moan and dug in. His lips sucked onto your clit, clamping onto it for dear life as he earned a moan from your throat when he slurped, the taste of you almost ending him. The way his tongue flickered over your bud was better than your fantasy, the way he lapped up your juices, the way he teased you further down, circling around your entrance.

"Is that what you wanted baby, is this what your wet cunt needed? My mouth around it, did it need this too?" His tongue shoved its way through your hole, your hips flying upward as your hands came to fist his messy curls, pushing him inward, surely suffocating him as you let him tongue fuck you deep. "Oh my god yes! Just like that!" You squealed almost suddenly as his thumb reached back up, his tongue at work and you were now being frantically rubbed vigorously by the pressure of his thumb moving over your clit in a constant motion. Your body was in ecstasy, you knew you were right about him touching you this way, better than anybody had ever touched you. Nobody had ever made you cum in foreplay, not one man had given you a real climax, but Joe was too much of an expert, knowing your body better than you did so quickly for you to be faking this orgasm. Your breathing hitched and you swatted your face backward, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you felt your second pinnacle of the night starting. "J-J-Joey. I'm going to-"

His tongue curled upward and flattened out wide, hitting the right places and you gushed onto it, the loudest moan fell out of your mouth, your lungs fought for air when the sudden wave of sensitivity filled your body, your thighs twitching as you wrapped your legs around the back of his head, squeezing to fill any gap you might have had between one another, which was slim to nothing. Joe took a deep breath in as he pulled away, moaning into your cunt one last time, your legs relaxing back to their previous position and it wasn't long till Joe was back up met with your face again. "Your pussy is heaven Y/N, so fucking pretty and ready for my cock, now I get to fuck you - tell me how you want it baby." Joe moved his lips back to your neck, sucking at a part that made the soft little hairs at the back of your head stand up right.

"Ruin me." You groaned noisily and that was all he needed to hear.

He lifted himself above you, using his hands to hold himself up right as he lined himself up at your entrance, Joe knew he wasn't going to last terribly long at the expense of wanting you this way for so long and from the way he'd just eaten you like a starving animal but the time he had, he'd make it count. "Anything for my girl." My girl.

He slowly pushed inward and you took the entirety of his length perfectly, though scrunched your face up a little from his size. "Fuck you're so tight, you ready?" He was so sexy yet so thoughtful even still, making sure that you were ok before he completely wrecked you just as you'd asked him to. How was it possible to be so horny for someone yet still have those damn butterflies flipping around in your stomach like it was something beknown, like love. You nodded briefly. "Fuck me Joey."

"Where have I heard that before?" You instantly threw your hands over your face, embarrassed at what he was referring to. His came up to swipe them away from your face so he could look at you whilst he started to thrust his hips, starting slow and then building up a pace which saw his cock slamming in and out, his balls slapping against your ass. Your foreheads pressed down together, looking in unison at the way he shattered your hole, the way he fucked you so good.

"You take my cock so well pretty girl, so fucking well." You clenched your walls around him, squeezing the length of his cock making his arms flex as he shuddered above you, the headboard was smacking itself against the wall the more frantic his hips moved into you. "Shit don't do that I'll cum." You met each other's stare, biting your lip hard and he knew the game you were playing. Ripping himself apart from and kneeling upward, towering over you without any warning he flipped you over. "Fucking hell, that peachy bum is perfect, I knew it." He was completely done and you were completely under any command he could lay upon you, the way he man handled you almost made you cum again. "Arse up now."

You got into position straight away, your head pressed into the sheets as you raised your back end upward and his cock met your twinging cunt once more, his hands gripping at your waist as he pounded into you from behind, his head arching backward as he felt himself getting closer. "Oh god yes you feel amazing, better than I ever thought possible. Now tell me who you belong to baby, I want to hear it."

Your head was pushed down into the sheets as you tried to use your words, though you simply couldn't get them out. "Answer me when I ask you a fucking question." He demanded, one hand raised into the air and spanked straight down to your cheek making your head lean to the side, letting out a whimpered yelp from the hard blow. "I'm yours Joey, I've always been yours."

"And I'm yours, my darling, all fucking yours. Shit-" He pulled out quickly, jerking at his cock desperately, a moan so hot you couldn't quite comprehend if you'd heard it right saw him spewing his seed all over your ass cheeks. Slowly bringing himself back down from heaven, you remained in the same position whilst he darted to the bathroom and cleaned you up with a towel he found on the floor. Little did he know, this particular towel was the one you'd use to clean up earlier.

You rolled onto your back one he'd sorted you out, wiping his cock dry and tossing it to the floor beside your robe, he joined next to you, laying beside you as your chests heaved for air, looking up to the plain ceiling finding some sort of way to fathom on what just occurred. Both of your feelings now out in the open good and proper.

"Come here." Joe opened his arm out to you, instantly pulling yourself to rest your head down on his chest as his fingers bent awkwardly to sooth your still naked back.

"That was amazing Y/N, jesus christ." He sighed, pecking his lips onto the top of your head, your smiles beaming so hard you couldn't quite rip them apart from your features, it was like they were permanently moulded on your faces forever.

"Perfect. I'm so glad I accidentally answered you." Your cheeks flushed at your response, you had to start thinking before you spoke, idiot. You changed the subject quickly. "But what did you mean when you said better than you ever thought possible, Joey?" He wasn't dumb, he knew exactly what you were trying to get out of him. Joe licked his lips, his throat producing a small stifled laugh.

"You're not the only one who's had indecent thoughts about their friend love."

You laughed together, not an ounce of what had just happened was uncomfortable, it came so natural like it was genuinely meant to happen; the way Joe made you feel was like nothing you'd ever felt in your entire life. And now you laid there naked, snuggling like a couple that had been in love for years.

"Friend?"

"Say yes to me taking you to dinner tomorrow night and I might just make you more than my friend." Joe pulled you in closer as you lifted yourself up to look over at him.

"I'd love to go to dinner with you tomorrow night." Your eyes spoke to one another as a pleasant silence fell between you. You loved him.

431 notes · View notes