#it chapter 2 fanfiction

[reddie-fangirl24]

Taking Reddie/Losers Club requests! I love writing about these characters so message me any requests. I will reblog sentence starters, too.

#reddie #it chapter 2 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fanfiction #benverly #losers club #it chapter 2 fanfiction

[oifaaa]

You ever get those ongoing multi chapter fics that you love reading so much that when you finally catch up to the newest chapter you read it extra slow like maybe if I take my time the author might update while I'm reading this chapter

#fanfiction #i just did that with a fic that so far only has 2 chapters #but what a 2 chapters they were #the premise #the premise just got me in a chock hold #and then the writing just sealed it #this is what im gonna be thinking about for the next 2 days #just this fic

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - I Don't Need You

A/N – Since the first chapter got comments and actual reblogs, surprise, surprise, I was motivated to continue. See, Tumblr? This is how it works. I respond to instant validation.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE

You looked around the dusty hallway that comprised the main entrance to Lucifer’s manor. Yikes, Charlie was right; he really did need a cleaner. You doubted that was her main motivation for placing you in her father’s care but looking at the layers of thick dust and brimstone coating downstairs, you could see it hadn’t been used in a long time.

Lucifer watched you sceptically. Ideally, he would have liked to leave you to find your own way around, but he didn’t want to be accused of not trying by Charlie, should you call her and state that Lucifer was straight up ignoring you.

With that in mind, he bade you to follow him with a wave of his arm and gave you a half-arsed tour of each room, during which he would energetically state its name, and occasionally pepper in a fact if he felt like it and then hurry along.

“Parlor one, dining room, parlour two, library, parlour the… you know what, we have a lot of those, if you see a room with chairs and a fireplace, assume it’s a parlour. Moving on, bathroom, closet, like the parlour situation, there are lots of bathrooms and closets. Kitchen, which is always stocked by the way, so I don’t have to shop,” He muttered a sentence about the Hell of going out there, and then he was back to his bubbly self, rushing you through the rest of the tour, “Games room, spa, my room – don’t go in there – and here, among the unnecessary number of bedrooms, is your room.”

Although every room in the manor was lavish by Hell’s standards, Lucifer had sneakily pre-worked a bit of his magic to make yours somewhat undesirable. It was still large and had all the fixings, but now, it was dirty, damp, and there would always be an underlying scent of slightly rotten milk, that was just noticeable to annoy anyone, yet not something so offensive that he could be blamed for causing it.

The now slightly squalid room wasn’t Lucifer’s way of being petty and cruel; it was just that he wanted you to leave, and that would only happen if you had a reason to. You should go back to the Hotel where you belonged; better yet, you should just head to a different part of Hell where neither he nor his daughter would have to look at your disgustingly human face… A face that, though nothing like Lilith’s, reminded Lucifer of his wife since there was nobody else even remotely like her except for their daughter and now, unfortunately, you.

The simple fact of the matter was that Lucifer was just waiting for you to start demanding things of him, or Charlie. It would likely start with something small, like changing rooms, then if he gave you an inch, you would take a mile, and soon you would demand he use his Angelic Powers to serve you in seemingly impossible ways.

One way or another, the room was a test. You would either see it and leave in search of greener pastures or a better deal elsewhere, leeching off whoever would give you the time of day, or you would stay and start giving orders; either way, Lucifer would be able to return to his daughter with proof that sinners were the problem, not him.

You stepped into the room, accidentally kicking up a cloud of dust that made you sneeze.

After a minute, you turned to Lucifer, “Thank you for the room. It’s lovely.”

Lucifer held back a grimace as you had the audacity to smile at him.

“Great,” He replied in a strained tone, “Just perfect. So, I’ll uh, leave you to get settled in and-”

Just then a portal opened over the canopy bed and two packed suitcases landed there, courtesy of Charlie. Lucifer tasted his daughter’s magic in the air and sighed resignedly; whatever Charlie had planned she wasn’t backing down from what she likely thought was a good idea.

“Right on time,” Lucifer commended the fine timing of his daughter, and even though he was clearly uncomfortable with her plan to give him company, he did seem genuinely proud of her expert timing; then again, he was proud of anything she chose to do even if he didn’t always understand what it was she was doing.

“Great,” He repeated somewhat tiredly. Then he forced himself to smile. It was important that you would see him happy so that Charlie would hear about it later. “You go ahead and unpack. I’m going to do some very important work.”

The sentiment of ‘Don’t disturb me!’ hung in the air, unspoken, but obviously there.

Once Lucifer left, you flopped down on your bed, thinking about all you had seen. You checked your phone, finding several texts from Charlie, progressively getting more impatient as she awaited your reply with a somewhat hyper-anxious anticipation; it seemed the apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree.

‘How was your arrival?’

‘Did you get the grand tour?’

‘Which room did he put you in?’

‘I bet it was the Rococo room.’

‘Oh no, he didn’t put you up in my old room, did he? That would be so EMBARRASSING!!!’

‘Wait, why aren’t you replying?! PLEASE TELL ME HE’S BEING NICE TO YOU!’

‘I can come over if you need me to.’

‘Did your bags get there okay?’

You smiled and decided to put Charlie out of her misery. Your phone alerted you that she was already writing another message, but as soon as you started to compose one of your own, the notification that she was typing disappeared.

‘The tour was fine. Lucifer has been nothing but polite,’ and frazzled, you thought, though you omitted that part from the text; it was best that Charlie didn’t have anything extra to worry about while preparing for her meeting with Heaven.

‘My room is also amazing btw. I don’t know about Rococo or whatever, but it’s certainly stunning, and judging by the lack of stuffed animals and probably cheesy posters, I’m guessing it isn’t your old room.’

You really meant that. While your room was in need of a good cleaning, and there was a slightly off odour, it was indeed beautiful with its lacquered wooden floors, rich velvet drapes (Hell-Red of course) and lustrous emerald wallpaper. It was one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen, especially since arriving in Hell, not long dead after… the incident.

You removed your thoughts far from the grim memory of your death, not wanting to relive your demise. It never did any good to think of such things, and you had to wonder whether all Demons fixated on the manner in which they perished. Perhaps some were lucky enough to die in their sleep or get hit by a bus; at least the latter would be quick, and the former peaceful.

Moreover, you also believed the other part of your text; Lucifer probably kept Charlie’s room as a shrine to her youth. He seemed like the sort of person who was stuck in the past.

Your phone buzzed again, and you expected another message from Charlie, but it was from Angel Dust.

‘When you get the chance, snoop in the Short King’s bedroom and find out what kinky shit he’s into. I’m betting food play. He seems like a whipped cream and apples kind of guy if you catch my drift.’

Betting? He had undoubtedly roped Husk and Nifty into said bet. Husk had likely opted for a safe option like bondage… You didn’t want to know what kind of kinky shit Nifty thought Lucifer was into; that girl was a dark horse.

“Never going to happen,” You murmured to yourself with a chuckle; you would never invade Lucifer’s privacy like that, but Angel’s text had made you laugh and distracted you from your earlier thoughts.

Getting up, you pushed yourself into action and began unpacking both your thoughts and your few clothes and possessions. You lit a scented candle that Angel had gifted you. It was one of his unwanted gifts from Valentino, Blueberry Blowjob. You were glad when the scent filled the air, taking away from what you incorrectly assumed was the faint smell of mildew. The smell didn’t concern you, you had plenty more candles and tea lights with such names as Orange Orgasm, Popcorn Pussy, and Cherry Cum-Shot.

The manner was well furnished, but all of the rooms were neglected. There were seven parlours in total, each matching the theme of one Sin, probably because it would be polite should they ever need to meet with the Royal Family one-on-one. Despite that, they seemingly hadn’t been used in some time, nor had the library or any of the living rooms. You hadn’t seen much of Lucifer’s room as he rushed you past the door, which had only been slightly ajar, but what little you had caught a glimpse of seemed cleaner than the rest of the manor. Did he spend all of his time in there? Alone? That was… It was sad. Lucifer could live well among anyone in Hell, except maybe Alastor, yet he couldn’t see the good in anyone.

Without Charlie and Lilith that must be lonely. How depressing that he had created a kind of personal Hell inside of Hell. You were starting to think that Charlie was right to send you home with him.

Still, it seemed like he needed some time to get used to the idea of company and you had a job to work as his maid. Once you were unpacked, you would seek out the cleaning supplies and get started.

Lucifer draped himself over his workbench, listlessly toying with a rubber duck. It was one of his worst creations… Couldn’t even breathe fire.

He didn’t even know why he continued to make them. Honestly, he couldn’t think of anything else to make, and it was better to make something than nothing, even if he ended up creating the same thing over and over again, clinging to the memory of how one celestial duck had made Charlie smile.

Her smile was everything. Even Heaven couldn’t take that away, or… Maybe they could, if this meeting went awry. No. Please God, No. Not that. Anything but that. Kill the sinners. Show him the agonising mistake of Free Will for eternity, but he hoped to never see the day that Heaven treated his daughter with the same derision they typically reserved for him.

Lucifer froze, a glower darkening his expression as you knocked on the door.

He had clearly implied that he didn’t want to be bothered. IMPLIED IT! It hadn’t even been one day and you were bothering him.

Lucifer didn’t open the door. He didn’t want you to see inside his room. That was his space and his alone. Yet, he didn’t want any risk of you barging in, so he poofed himself to where you stood outside, using a glamorous entrance to grab your attention.

“Yes?” He said expectantly, leaning forward on his cane, as if leaning closer to you didn’t disturb him half as much as it did.

“Oh,” You blinked back surprise, though you weren’t too shocked seeing how Alastar always snuck up on you at the Hotel in a similarly flamboyant manor. “Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I just wondered if you could tell me where the cleaning products are kept? I would like to get started as soon as I can.”

Cleaning products? Lucifer was stuck on the sentiment as if he’d never heard of such foreign words. Then he seemed to remember, you had been volunteered as his maid. Right… That was Charlie’s way of making him take you.

You waited patiently for a response, having quickly learned that your host tended to drift between a fast-talking façade or thoughtful distractedness. You wished you didn’t have to ask him for help, but after searching three floors and the attic, you had gotten somewhat turned around, and you had no idea where you had already looked; the manor was massive.

Finally, Lucifer seemed to come to and he began boredly examining his hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” He stated demurely.

“It won’t?”

“No. It won’t.”

Behind you, Lucifer caught sight of a portrait of his family. The frame was carved blood-wood harvested from a Tree-Demon who once dared to insult Lilith in Lucifer’s presence. Two winged snakes adorned opposing corners of the portrait. With a lazy wave of his hand, they creaked and snapped, coming to life, and escaping their previous wooden home, leaving only indentations where they used to be. With another magical flourish, they grew slightly and became more life-like, shedding splinters as their new uniforms appeared.

“There, see, two half-sized cleaners. They’ll take care of everything.”

You stared hard at the new servants of the house, somewhat amazed by the show of power; nobody else in Hell could do anything close to creating life, and it seemed that Lucifer didn’t even care that he had such power.

Frankly, Lucifer was upset with his new creations. He had finally strayed from ducks, creating something new for the first time in over a century, and they were still bland. When he had created Razzle and Dazzle for Charlie, he had done everything he could to make them beautiful and unique. These abominations in front of him were cheap copies of that Sir Pentious fellow he had seen at the hotel. He just didn’t have anything left worth creating. There was no point.

Whatever. The snake servants would do their job quietly and obediently. And they’d be more useful and less annoying than Charlie’s reptilian friend.

“Oh, okay. Well, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” You asked, wishing to be useful. “I can cook pretty well, or I could run errands, or-”

“NO!” Lucifer snapped.

“But-”

“Don’t you get it?! I DON’T NEED YOU.”

Lucifer forced himself to take a calming breath, his gaze downcast so he didn’t have to look at you.

“This is all my daughter’s plan. All you have to do is stay out of my way here and Charlie will be happy. Do you think you can manage that?”

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #fem reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #razzle #dazzle #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #sinless sinners #chapter 2 #part 2 #i don't need you

[eddiekaspbrakirlsblog]

when I remember in IT chapter two that reddie were gonna leave TOGETHER I go insane like that whole scene where Richie’s like “Eduardo andele let’s go!” And when Eddie’s like “I just have to grab my toiletry bag and then we can go” WE CAN GO ???? WE ? AS IN TWO ? AS IN US TOGETHER ?????

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #reddie #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #reddie headcanon #reddie fix it #reddie fic #reddie fanfiction

[fleetways]

Chapter 26: The Hero

#sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #mdlhea #sonadow fanfiction #sonic fanfiction #sonic #shadow #chazart #heyyyyy look who is back after #checks watch #over 2 months #oopsies #i feel kinda weird about this one. but well. here it is #mdlhea chapter

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

< Prev Chapter -

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#Retirement Party #Chapter 2 baybeee #Doll is coming to terms with the weirdest situation she's ever been in #cod mw fanfiction #John Price x Reader #x reader #Some hints of Poly 141 (I think it'll crop up properly later on) #Gaz wearing his kiss the cook apron wondering why Doll's not kissing him ): (It's because you kidnapped her) #Johnny never change baby boy you're a dog and we love that about you

[greenmanalishi]

*CHAPTER 4 SPOILER*

#but is it a spoiler #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #john wick chapter 3 parabellum #john wick chapter 2 #keanu reeves #keanu reeves memes #john wick memes #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick meme #keanu fucking reeves #keanu fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick 2 #the matrix #matrix #Helen wick #greenmanalishi #meme #john wick smut #keanu reeves smut #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x y/n #john wick x y/n

[the-depths-au]

Concept art for chapter 2

#the depths au #loz au #fancomic #loz #archive #i loved this scene #chapter 2 #tloz fanart #totk fanfiction #loz totk

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!! #my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

[rubra-wav]

Snap (part 1) - Deception

(Part 2)

Vox brainrot entry #1.5

Follow up on entry #1

A/N he falls to bits, but they take care of him in the end, I promise. He def deserves it though. If this is bad, I apologise, I've never shown the smut I've written to anyone for feedback lmao.

Probably should have done a word counter for this - it's pretty long.

Cw: 18+ NSFW fic below cut, degradation, edging, punishment, biting, overstimulation, voyeurism, switch (but ultimately bottom) Vox, domtop! reader, AFAB reader - gn pronouns, also feat my nerd ass's knowledge of flower language lmao

Idk if there's other things I should CW in here sorry (advice/correction in comments appreciated 🙏)

- It didn't take you very long to start noticing how he seemed to know what to do perfectly; gifts, gestures, dates. Even if he always played it off as a master at lying through his toothy smile, you weren't an idiot.

- You do curse yourself that you let it slide and treated it as an afterthought for several months however. It begins to become more of a conscious thing on your mind though.

- So you bait him with something so very specific that it wouldn't ever be a consideration normally for someone trying to woo you - as he had been doing for several months at this point. After you know that he's off work, you sit on your phone scrolling and click onto a post about flowers, sprawled across your lounge lazily.

- You smile at your phone and say out to the empty room as if just casually talking to yourself. "Ooo, snapdragons." He fell for it hook line and fucking sinker.

- The next morning, there is a delivery of beautifully wrapped red snapdragons at your door with a note taped to the side of it.

- You felt a mixture of disgust, anger and betrayal rise in your chest at the confirmation that he'd been violating your privacy by looking at you secretly like some fucking stalker. You push it down though, smiling for the camera (literally) and decide that you'll confront him about it later. For now you'd just act like you didn't know he was looking at you, and later on you'd be punishing him for it.

- Your sex life with him hadn't exactly moved that far due to both of your hesitation to move to become more seriously involved, not wanting to fully ruin your friendship with one-another in case it was unrequited. Only being FWB sometimes having sex essentially. But, you decided you would be getting back at him real good for this. You would be much like the flower you had caught him out with.

***

You groaned into the mutually hungry lust-drunk kiss as your lips melded against his, tongues roughly fighting for control against the other as your back was pushed against the wall by Vox who grunted deeply against your lips.

The demon's monitor provided the only light in the house as you arrived home, it serving as the most common secret rendezvous for you two to be together like this. His claws gripping at your sides slid down your thighs to grope at them before picking you up and bringing your crotch up against his steadfast arousal.

You pulled back from the kiss with a gasp at the stimulation and wrapped your legs around his hips to grind closer into one another. "You're very quickly excited just by making out as per usual." You teased him, kissing his face where his cheek should have been.

He let out an embarrassed growl as he glared down at you, the blush on his cheeks making it not hit all that hard. "Shut the fuck up."

You laughed at him as you watched him give a sharp inhale, tensing up at the way you ground your clothed pussy into his dick. You could tell by the way that his claws dug into your hips that he intended to be in control of the situation, and you inwardly grinned in satisfaction as the plan you had been sitting on for a while was finally going to be executed.

Vox slammed his lips back onto yours as he walked to your bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot impatiently and falling forward on the mattress with you gripped against him.

He sat back to begin removing all the layers he was wearing, it taking a long time as usual as he didn't like creasing his jacket or shirt - him wanting to preserve his appearance to the world outside your doors even when his hands were shaking with anticipation of what he thinks is going to be the usual fuck session for him.

And this is where you choose to shift the power dynamic, while he's expecting you to take off your shirt and lay back, you're pouncing on him and slamming his back against the bed the second his shirt, jacket as he finishes shedding his layers.

He looks up at you with surprise as the bed squeaks under the shifted weight, and then annoyance which flickers onto his features but is quickly replaced by a strained smirk. "Haha, yeah, no. That's not how this is gonna g-" you cut him off by moving to straddle him, pressing your lips against his and rolling yourself into his hard-on again. He let out a loud groan into the kiss which teetered into a slight whine.

You could feel the way he tensed up at the embarrassingly submissive sound you'd pulled from him and he moved to try to reposition himself as being in charge again, you didn't let him however as you held him in place under you.

You rhythmically began setting the pace for the two of you, and you felt him begin to relent begrudgingly and give in to his pleasure, one claw gripping your hip as he tried to alter your pace to match his, while the other came up to grab at your chest as your tongues moved against each other in a dizzyingly hot way which added to the growing arousal you felt.

You could feel your wetness seeping uncomfortably into your underwear as Vox's erection rubbing against your cunt at just the right angle sent stabs of pleasure through your body despite your pants.

You parted momentarily to let out a soft panting moan before diving back in. Vox seemed to take this as his chance to try put you under him again, gripping both hands against your sides as he turned the two of you over again, him moving to push you firmer into the mattress but you not letting him as you flipped back the other way and pulled back to look down at him. Observing his frustrated expression and slightly parted lips which were moving as he panted excitedly.

Shaking your head, lips pouted, you shook your finger at him as if scolding a child - patronising him. "Now, now, Vox. You and I both know that this is not about to become where you inevitably fall apart on top of me. Not tonight." He tried to rise from to mattress, opening his mouth to protest at the extra mean way you were addressing him. You put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"You are going to just listen to me and take it how I know you damn well enjoy it despite all the usual whining and bitching." You commanded, eyes narrowing.

Vox went light blue at the cheeks, moving once again to try and change your postions. "What the fuck has got you so damn worked up today?" He growled. You looked down at him while finally allowing the rage you've been feeling for days to seep into your voice.

"Snapdragons." You look down upon him with utter contempt, and watch as his smirk fades and confusion and a bit of fear flickers across his features at the sudden shift in your attitude. He clearly doesn't understand what you mean.

"Wha-" he asked, eyes squinting up at you.

"'Snapdragons'," you repeated, "Are what I said to myself while I was home alone, and then found on my doorstep the next morning. Or at least, when I should have been home alone." You give him an absolutely evil grin laced with anger as his face begins to recognise what you're saying and shifts to utter horror.

"N-no I just guessed truly, you know I'm too busy for that kind of thing anyways! I own Voxtek, it's a non-stop business and you know tha-!" He goes to try and immediately make the usual bullshit excuses. You don't let him as you cut him off, hands moving to grip him by the writs and pin him down to the bed.

"And," your eyes bore into his red ones. "How you'd be sweating nervously as fuck the day after I'd be giving myself some.. self love the night before, after a certain time, which I believe matches up with when you start to knock off of work." You hissed through clenched teeth.

You were ready to give more examples but didn’t have to as Vox's face turned fully purple with embarrassment. You watched in satisfaction as his excuses turned into horrified, growingly rapid spluttering nonsense as he glitched and jolted under your gaze with utter humiliation.

"I-I'm. I-! I- hf, I just- stop looking at me like that!" He let out a horrified mumble which petered off into a whine, eyes looking away but ultimately coming back to yours as you glared at him unwaveringly.

He'd never seen you this pissed off at him and it honestly scared him. The heavy feeling of self disgust set in on him as his activities which he'd been brushing off for a while now came crashing down in on him. As he looked into your eyes, feeling his wrists being gripped hard in your hands, he did something which he normally never does; apologise genuinely.

"I-I'm," he blue sceened in the middle of his sentence as humiliation made his voice crack "--orry. 'M sorry I won't ev--r do -t aga-in!" Pixelated tears had begun to form at the edges of his eyes as he allowed his embarrassment at his actions and being caught by you finally take over.

Vox hated himself for putting on such a pathetic display, but he hadn't exactly liked himself over how much he craved spying on you in general, especially in the more intimate moments he knew he particularly shouldn't have been seeing.

The burning hot anger inside of you began to dissipate slightly as you watched the way he was so openly expressing remorse for his actions, however your punishment for this shit was far from over.

You stopped glaring at him as hard, and rather fixed your face with a blank expression instead as you leaned forward towards him and gently gripped the side of his screen. "I--m -orry I'm sor-ry.." He repeatedly whined again and again. Vox sniffled loudly as he looked up at you with a somewhat hopeful expression, hoping it was enough to stave away the rage he had seen in your eyes.

"You're going to be." You said coldly as you reached downwards to begin undoing his belt. You didn't miss the way he jolted in surprise. He was going to be getting sexual punishment from you? This was certainly not something he was expecting, and he felt an extra layer of embarrassment at the excitement he felt at that prospect.

You took his dick in your hand and looked at the way it twitched with quite a bit more vigor then usual. "You're joking. Does the prospect of me punishing you over this really excite you this much? You're a filthy fucking pervert." You insulted him with a look of distaste, smirking inwardly.

"N-no no!" His eyes widened as he glitched out, voice coming out mortified.

You shook your head as you moved your face to the space in between his shoulder and neck. "Your body is much more honest than you are." You murmured, relishing the way he shivered under you as your breath fanned across his neck.

You moved your hand down to grip firmly around his dick, stroking it as your teeth sunk deep into his throat. Vox jolted under you, letting out a strained moan due to how he was tearing up before, just starting to compose himself with his guilt, embarrassment and the weight of your gaze just a minute ago.

You began tormenting the twitching and tense demon under you. You pumped his dick in your hand while kissing his neck and shoulders, leaving marks as you went, putting him in a pleasure filled haze that was dizzying to Vox.

"Shaking under me like some common fucking slut." You laughed against his skin where you pressed your lips against his chest, prompting a huff with teetered off into a moan as you sped up your hand on him.

Whatever calming down he'd been doing was undone quickly as his first climax began to approach after all the attention, coupled with the various degradation you were giving him.

He let out a loud groan coupled with words that were barely orders at this point and were much more begs. "Ugh, l-like thaat." Vox moaned, arching further into your touch as sticky precum began flowing in large amounts from the flushed head of his dick.

Just as it was obvious he was going to come the next second, you took your hand off of him and brought away any stimulation you'd been giving him all at once.

He let out a disappointed grunt at the loss of contact, looking up at you and trying to tug at your heart strings to allow him release. He could tell you weren't going to however by the way you looked at him though. He already regretted it, but it was clear you were far from satisfied.

Once again, you began kissing him.

Your lips made their way downwards, agonisingly slow to get him further uncomfortable and bothered.

Vox watched you with rapt attention as your lips left dark grey/blue hickies on his skin. For the first time in his life, it seemed the demon was truly speechless.

He knew he'd truly fucked up as bad as he probably could if he was getting this kind of treatment from you of all people. You certainly weren't some yes-man pushover, but the usual layer of sweetness covering your words and actions as you interacted with him even while pissed was gone.

Vox arched with a whine as your lips finally wrapped around his already overstimulated cock, and then began a barrage of agonisingly pleasurable, contradictory torment upon it that had him giving out broken sobs by the end of it.

You edged him again several more times, skilfully sucking on him before taking your mouth off again and again as he almost orgasmed, all the while giving him criticism each time he failed to orgasm.

By this point, Vox was well and truly crying with the overstimulation and now painful arousal he was experiencing. His ego was in tatters, and he didn't have the fucks to give about hiding his desperation at this point.

"You truly are a shameless fucking pervert." You growled against the inside of his hip as you sunk your teeth into his skin there as he came down from halted release. You relished the sound he made, a loud and glitchy whine which didn't even try to negate your insult this time.

You leaned over to once again begin sucking him off, pausing before taking him in your mouth. His claws gripped into the sheets for some kind of consolation, as he had already tried to seek comfort in gripping at your hair to pull you further onto him, and you'd swatted his hand away with a hard glare up at him.

The demon's tear filled red eyes and purple face watched you desperately above as you wrapped your lips and tongue around him once again, you looking up at him with blank contempt that shattered him inside further.

You looked down away from his crying face as you swallowed an uncomfortable amount of precum. Pulling away from Vox in the middle of abusing his dick yet again. He let out a broken sob at the loss of contact again, eyes squeezing shut hard.

At this point, he was unable to even deny how much he just wanted release and a break from the relentless harsh words you had been giving him the whole time. The rare event where Vox wasn't being as bratty as possible was truly a shocking one.

His screen at this point was mostly just flashing blue with an error message alongside his whines, which had begun to sound less humanised and more mechanical. You didn't read it fully, but it was something along the lines of: 'Remove subject Them.exe (I'm s_rry I'm sorr_ pl--e pleas_) to prevent further error.'

You hummed somewhat sympathetically as you observed the way he trembled with overwhelm; skin covered in goosebumps, sweat, and a patchwork of your bite marks and hickies. You could tell at this point you had given him enough, and anything further would just be cruel.

The rest of the road to full forgiveness for his bullshit would be outside the bedroom. He was truly wrecked at this point.

You got up and stood up on the bed over him and quickly moved to undo your pants.

The man on the bed looked at you with desperate eyes as you finally revealed your contrastingly touch starved sex.

"Please- I'm sorry, so so sorry, please, plea--, pl-eeash." Vox whined quietly, pleading with you.

You got down on your knees over him again, gripping his hand and guiding it between your thighs as you shushed him softly. "I know, I know, hon." You leaned forward and gently kissed him on his lips, trying to calm him down. "It'll be over soon."

He mumbled out relieved nonsense at the fact you weren't being so mean, and the confirmation he'd be finishing finally. Vox took up the non-verbal cue and began gently touching in between your thighs.

You moaned softly as the kiss you were sharing began to become more passionate, his claw carefully pushing inside of your neglected pussy to avoid hurting you at all.

Your hands moved to gently cup his neck as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, forcing the taste you'd been dealing with the past while. You heard him gag on the taste of his own precum, but he still didn't try to push away as his disgust melted into a throaty groan.

You pulled back from the kiss as you jolted at the feeling of him brushing his thumb over your clit. "Good boy." You praised him breathily. God that did something to him. Vox's brain had been messed up from all the torment, but the sudden praise made it feel like it was turning to mush as warmth flooded his chest intoxicatingly.

You softly laughed at the way he seemed to be so happy after hearing that, arching a brow at him. You leaned back to look down at him. "Don't think you're off the hook here. You're still a disgusting voyeur," his face fell again as more tears flowed from his eyes. "Though," you leaned forward so your lips were barely off of his screen. "I suppose you are my disgusting voyeur because I'm feeling so nice about all this." Vox let out a little relieved huff at the reassurance, relaxing again and focusing more on trying to pleasure and prepare you.

Vox leaned forward awkwardly in an effort to properly kiss your neck in a way that made you comfortable even with the way his head was shaped as he began trying to match his fingers' pace inside of you with what you usually wanted. It was very rare that he was this obviously eager to please you. Showed just how absolutely fucked up he was.

As his tongue ran over your neck, it brought up goosebumps at the strangely wet yet static electric-like sensation his tongue had. You sighed, gripping at his shoulders as you rocked your hips down on his fingers.

Vox's eyes softened with love-sickness where you couldn't see as he heard the sounds of your sighs and murmured praises, tasting the salt of the sweat on your skin and feeling your walls gripping onto his fingers with desire with a satisfied groan.

He was utterly relieved that you had started treating him better again; even though he was absolutely aware in every fibre of himself that he did deserve it and more. The fact that you hadn't broken off your strange situationship with him the second you figured it out was truly a blessing.

You prompted him to lay back into the bed again as you were prepared enough to take him. He didn't fight you as he flopped back onto the mattress, his eyes admiring the way his fingers dripped with your sticky wetness as they pulled out of you with a lewd squelching.

"You're not going to come instantly inside me." You said pointedly to him; not a request but an order. He nodded quickly as he gave you a look like he would never ever do that. You wouldn't be surprised if he did with all the attention he'd been getting despite the pause, but you hoped not.

You slithered one hand downwards to position him to slide inside of you, the other cupping the side of his face.

You let out a relieved sigh as he slid into you with little to no effort - the precum he'd been leaking for so long at this point was significant lubrication along with your own.

The pace you set was quite quick from the get go as you pressed yourself down onto him at the right angle to hit where needed to be hit inside of you.

Vox's claws moved to grip at your back with clear desperation. You let him cling onto you this time. You smirked down at him, observing the fucked out expression he was showing alongside an error message that was just showing keysmash alongside a heat warning that was displaying on the right side of his monitor, flashing climbing temperature.

You leaned forward to give him an absolutely filthy kiss, open mouthed and drooling as you two shoved your tongues into each other; both of you moaning loudly into it.

The room filled with the sounds of the two of you fucking messily, your sweaty bodies rubbing harshly against one-another creating extremely loud slapping noises alongside your moans and the whining cries of Vox who had seemingly found his voice again.

"-on't stop! Don't st -- op! Fu-cking he-ll!" Vox yelled as he dug his claws painfully into the skin of your back, likely leaving scratches. The pain of it didn't yet kick in as your own sky-high arousal and growing pleasure hit into you in hot waves that had your knees shaking as you rode him.

"Not happening- fuuck." You groaned out, voice teetering higher at the end.

Ecstacy began to climb quickly, and the rhythm eventually began to fall apart as you began slamming yourself onto his dick in a frenzy to stimulate yourself.

"This what you wanted spying upon me, huh?" You teased on top of him, observing the way he so clearly was so close to finishing from the way you were clenching around his already over stimulated cock. "Such a gooood little bitch." That sent Vox screaming over the edge with an extremely loud yell accompanied by mechanical whirring as he hit his peak.

The feeling of him filling you up was fucking heavenly as you slammed down on him one last time and arched into the claws that had dug long scratches down your back that were now weeping beads of blood in places as your orgasm overtook you.

As you panted, feeling your pleasure hit into you in waves, you watched as Vox glitched badly below you, face looking up at you with a fucked out expression that read as if he was looking at some sort of deity - before switching off under you, leaving nothing but a black screen which began flashing a 'we'll be right back' message as well as a 'critical temperature error 121 degrees' in bold red.

You cursed, getting off of him shakily and quickly walking to go get an ice pack. As mad as you were with him right now, you didn't want to actually damage him.

As you came back with the ice pack, you noticed that he'd switched back on on a very low brightness, face looking as he was sweaty as all hell and it was obvious he was still coming down from his prior release. The red number was flashing 102 now as it began climbing downwards.

You breathed a sigh of relief while shaking your head in slight annoyance. You walked over to the edge of the bed and sat on it, pressing the icepack on the side of his neck where you'd first bit him. "You're so damn dramatic." You scolded him, only half seriously insulting him.

Vox had somewhat gotten his bearings back, and he looked away in embarrassment with a sour look on his face. "Shut the fuck up." You rolled your eyes, and went to fake getting up.

"Okay, I guess I'll just leave then if you don't want me here, asshole." You snorted as you watched his bullshit crumple so fast, him looking back at you and gripping onto your wrist pleadingly.

He grumbled again when he realised you weren't serious and relaxed against you as you moved to lay on top of him. Your chin rested on his chest as you looked up at him with growing fatigue expectantly as the temperature bar quickly dropped from red to orange, and his flushed purple face began to turn the usual shade of blues he usually had.

He sighed as he somewhat seemingly struggled to say what he knew he had to. "Listen, I... I am sorry. Really. I know it was wrong, and I... won't do it again." He looked away from you with clear remorse in his exhausted voice.

You stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. "You're not off the hook yet. Tomorrow, you will tell me where the things you've been watching me through are, and I will be you-proofing them." You said very seriously.

Vox went to bite back the usual level of snark but figured he'd be bratting far too close to the sun after what you had already done. "Fine." He said enunciating the 'f' as if it took everything to say it.

You hummed in satisfaction with his answer and buried your face into his chest. Vox sighed heavily, looking at the vase full of now wilting snapdragons that had started all of this with annoyance as he loosely wrapped his hands around you.

"You're lucky I love you so much." You murmured tiredly into his skin. What.

You startled as you realised that you'd just said that out loud. Opening your eyes with a shocked expression and slowly finding Vox, whose red eyes were looking at you with equal shock.

The silence in the room was all-encompassing.

A/N If you got the metaphor, I love you so much 🙏 (hint: snapdragons mean deception)

Oh my fucking God it was like the world didn't want me to write this one. First copy get screwed into nothingness because my reception got cut due to mfs doing work on the phone towers in my area, then after I got back home and had WiFi I got absolutely killed by a migraine that would not leave me tf alone.

I got so into writing this that I physically went outside and touched grass afterwards 💀

#vox #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox hazbin #vox fanfiction #vox x reader fanfic #i didnt intend initially to have this be multiple parts but my dumbass decided to at the last minute #so chapter 2 of this will be in my sights #also any feedback would be appreciated #may rewrite this with an amab reader as well bc i havent seen any amab reader stuff

[reddie-fangirl24]

This is an in-between moment I wrote for @celt-the-flame-3110 story. I highly recommend that you read it. I hope you enjoy this little ficlet.

As Eddie slept soundly in Richie's arms (though little snores were heard), the tension of the recent events still lingered in the air, but for now, they were safe from the hurricane in the cellar. It was in this moment of relative calm that Mike and Bill approached the scene, concern etched in their expressions.

"Is Eddie okay? The storm really shook him up,” Mike asked in a hushed tone as he sat down near Richie.

Richie yawned before answering. The excitement from the storm and comforting Eddie had taken its toll on him, but he was not complaining - just as long as Eddie was okay. He kept smoothing his hand in soft rhythms up his back. "Yeah, he's sleeping. It's been rough for him, dealing with this storm. Poor guy.”

Bill joined them. "Is he hurt or anything?"

Richie shook his head, his arms tightening around Eddie protectively. "Physically, he's fine. It's the anxiety that's hitting him hard. But he’s powered through.”

Understanding passed between them, and they exchanged knowing glances. As they sat in the dimly lit cellar, the flickering lanterns casting shadows on their faces, they began to share stories of their past, finding solace in the comfort of each other's company.

Bill smiled a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "Remember the time we tried building a makeshift treehouse? We were too stubborn to ask for help, so it ended up collapsing in less than an hour."

Richie chuckled, a faint smile forming. "Ah, yes, good times. We were a bunch of clueless kids, trying to take on the world. And failing spectacularly."

Laughter echoed in the cellar, momentarily drowning out the howling winds. The stories continued to flow, each memory serving as a lifeline, grounding them in the present and reminding them of the resilience they possessed.

Amid their reminiscing, Richie stole glances at the peaceful figure of Eddie nestled in his arms. He brushed his fingers gently through Eddie's hair, his touch a silent reassurance during the storm's chaos.

Bill and Mike noticed Richie's actions, sharing a knowing look. They also held hands themselves, finding support in one another's touch. 

Their conversation wove through memories and promises, the storm continuing outside, but not letting it ruin their fun. And through it all, Richie kept a watchful eye on Eddie, cherishing the peacefulness of his slumber, knowing that when he woke, they would face this storm together.

#Reddie #it chapter 2 #hanbrough #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #mike hanlon #Bill Denborough #it chapter 2 fanfiction

[dark-hoodie-thoughts]

Hour Of Comfort

Requested by: @cupophrogs

Bunzo would be more fidgety and silent the employees screams haunt him, the new found silence in the factory would change him.

He would spend his time in the memory room or with you, he would avoid the others everytime he sees them he remembers the things they did, he did.

Bunzo would cling to you everytime he's around you he'd listen to you intensely, he'll try anything to forget the thing they call 'the hour of joy'.

He regrets it almost everyday, bunzo loved when the kids would come and play, he loved to see you help and play with them but now everything is silent and dirty.

Bunzo would try and find things he could do that keeps his mind off of it and keep to himself when he feels venerable even though you tell him not too he feels like a burden.

After a while bunzo slowly returns to his former self he would branch out to the others like mommy and kissy and he would spend more time with you.

Bunzo would cuddle you each night sometimes holding you tighter then the last when the silence gets to him, you get him and comfort him.

He would open up to you more and try to get out of the corner he kept himself in for soo long and when he finally gets out, feeling back to normal he'll thank you and praise you for sticking by him.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime fanfic #poppy playtime fanfiction #poppy playtime characters #poppy playtime character x reader #poppy playtime chapter 2 #poppy playtime x reader headcanon #poppy playtime x reader fluff #poppy playtime bunzo #poppy playtime bunzo x reader #bunzo bunny #bunzo x reader #poppy playtime bunzo headcanon #bunzo headcanon

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - I Don't Need You

A/N – Since the first chapter got comments and actual reblogs, surprise, surprise, I was motivated to continue. See, Tumblr? This is how it works. I respond to instant validation.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

FEM VERSION HERE

NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE

You looked around the dusty hallway that comprised the main entrance to Lucifer’s manor. Yikes, Charlie was right; he really did need a cleaner. You doubted that was her main motivation for placing you in her father’s care but looking at the layers of thick dust and brimstone coating downstairs, you could see it hadn’t been used in a long time.

Lucifer watched you sceptically. Ideally, he would have liked to leave you to find your own way around, but he didn’t want to be accused of not trying by Charlie, should you call her and state that Lucifer was straight up ignoring you.

With that in mind, he bade you to follow him with a wave of his arm and gave you a half-arsed tour of each room, during which he would energetically state its name, and occasionally pepper in a fact if he felt like it and then hurry along.

“Parlor one, dining room, parlour two, library, parlour the… you know what, we have a lot of those, if you see a room with chairs and a fireplace, assume it’s a parlour. Moving on, bathroom, closet, like the parlour situation, there are lots of bathrooms and closets. Kitchen, which is always stocked by the way, so I don’t have to shop,” He muttered a sentence about the Hell of going out there, and then he was back to his bubbly self, rushing you through the rest of the tour, “Games room, spa, my room – don’t go in there – and here, among the unnecessary number of bedrooms, is your room.”

Although every room in the manor was lavish by Hell’s standards, Lucifer had sneakily pre-worked a bit of his magic to make yours somewhat undesirable. It was still large and had all the fixings, but now, it was dirty, damp, and there would always be an underlying scent of slightly rotten milk, that was just noticeable to annoy anyone, yet not something so offensive that he could be blamed for causing it.

The now slightly squalid room wasn’t Lucifer’s way of being petty and cruel; it was just that he wanted you to leave, and that would only happen if you had a reason to. You should go back to the Hotel where you belonged; better yet, you should just head to a different part of Hell where neither he nor his daughter would have to look at your disgustingly human face… A face that, though nothing like Lilith’s, reminded Lucifer of his wife since there was nobody else even remotely like her except for their daughter and now, unfortunately, you.

The simple fact of the matter was that Lucifer was just waiting for you to start demanding things of him, or Charlie. It would likely start with something small, like changing rooms, then if he gave you an inch, you would take a mile, and soon you would demand he use his Angelic Powers to serve you in seemingly impossible ways.

One way or another, the room was a test. You would either see it and leave in search of greener pastures or a better deal elsewhere, leeching off whoever would give you the time of day, or you would stay and start giving orders; either way, Lucifer would be able to return to his daughter with proof that sinners were the problem, not him.

You stepped into the room, accidentally kicking up a cloud of dust that made you sneeze.

After a minute, you turned to Lucifer, “Thank you for the room. It’s lovely.”

Lucifer held back a grimace as you had the audacity to smile at him.

“Great,” He replied in a strained tone, “Just perfect. So, I’ll uh, leave you to get settled in and-”

Just then a portal opened over the canopy bed and two packed suitcases landed there, courtesy of Charlie. Lucifer tasted his daughter’s magic in the air and sighed resignedly; whatever Charlie had planned she wasn’t backing down from what she likely thought was a good idea.

“Right on time,” Lucifer commended the fine timing of his daughter, and even though he was clearly uncomfortable with her plan to give him company, he did seem genuinely proud of her expert timing; then again, he was proud of anything she chose to do even if he didn’t always understand what it was she was doing.

“Great,” He repeated somewhat tiredly. Then he forced himself to smile. It was important that you would see him happy so that Charlie would hear about it later. “You go ahead and unpack. I’m going to do some very important work.”

The sentiment of ‘Don’t disturb me!’ hung in the air, unspoken, but obviously there.

Once Lucifer left, you flopped down on your bed, thinking about all you had seen. You checked your phone, finding several texts from Charlie, progressively getting more impatient as she awaited your reply with a somewhat hyper-anxious anticipation; it seemed the apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree.

‘How was your arrival?’

‘Did you get the grand tour?’

‘Which room did he put you in?’

‘I bet it was the Rococo room.’

‘Oh no, he didn’t put you up in my old room, did he? That would be so EMBARRASSING!!!’

‘Wait, why aren’t you replying?! PLEASE TELL ME HE’S BEING NICE TO YOU!’

‘I can come over if you need me to.’

‘Did your bags get there okay?’

You smiled and decided to put Charlie out of her misery. Your phone alerted you that she was already writing another message, but as soon as you started to compose one of your own, the notification that she was typing disappeared.

‘The tour was fine. Lucifer has been nothing but polite,’ and frazzled, you thought, though you omitted that part from the text; it was best that Charlie didn’t have anything extra to worry about while preparing for her meeting with Heaven.

‘My room is also amazing btw. I don’t know about Rococo or whatever, but it’s certainly stunning, and judging by the lack of stuffed animals and probably cheesy posters, I’m guessing it isn’t your old room.’

You really meant that. While your room was in need of a good cleaning, and there was a slightly off odour, it was indeed beautiful with its lacquered wooden floors, rich velvet drapes (Hell-Red of course) and lustrous emerald wallpaper. It was one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen, especially since arriving in Hell, not long dead after… the incident.

You removed your thoughts far from the grim memory of your death, not wanting to relive your demise. It never did any good to think of such things, and you had to wonder whether all Demons fixated on the manner in which they perished. Perhaps some were lucky enough to die in their sleep or get hit by a bus; at least the latter would be quick, and the former peaceful.

Moreover, you also believed the other part of your text; Lucifer probably kept Charlie’s room as a shrine to her youth. He seemed like the sort of person who was stuck in the past.

Your phone buzzed again, and you expected another message from Charlie, but it was from Angel Dust.

‘When you get the chance, snoop in the Short King’s bedroom and find out what kinky shit he’s into. I’m betting food play. He seems like a whipped cream and apples kind of guy if you catch my drift.’

Betting? He had undoubtedly roped Husk and Nifty into said bet. Husk had likely opted for a safe option like bondage… You didn’t want to know what kind of kinky shit Nifty thought Lucifer was into; that girl was a dark horse.

“Never going to happen,” You murmured to yourself with a chuckle; you would never invade Lucifer’s privacy like that, but Angel’s text had made you laugh and distracted you from your earlier thoughts.

Getting up, you pushed yourself into action and began unpacking both your thoughts and your few clothes and possessions. You lit a scented candle that Angel had gifted you. It was one of his unwanted gifts from Valentino, Blueberry Blowjob. You were glad when the scent filled the air, taking away from what you incorrectly assumed was the faint smell of mildew. The smell didn’t concern you, you had plenty more candles and tea lights with such names as Orange Orgasm, Popcorn Pussy, and Cherry Cum-Shot.

The manner was well furnished, but all of the rooms were neglected. There were seven parlours in total, each matching the theme of one Sin, probably because it would be polite should they ever need to meet with the Royal Family one-on-one. Despite that, they seemingly hadn’t been used in some time, nor had the library or any of the living rooms. You hadn’t seen much of Lucifer’s room as he rushed you past the door, which had only been slightly ajar, but what little you had caught a glimpse of seemed cleaner than the rest of the manor. Did he spend all of his time in there? Alone? That was… It was sad. Lucifer could live well among anyone in Hell, except maybe Alastor, yet he couldn’t see the good in anyone.

Without Charlie and Lilith that must be lonely. How depressing that he had created a kind of personal Hell inside of Hell. You were starting to think that Charlie was right to send you home with him.

Still, it seemed like he needed some time to get used to the idea of company and you had a job to work as his cleaner. Once you were unpacked, you would seek out the cleaning supplies and get started.

Lucifer draped himself over his workbench, listlessly toying with a rubber duck. It was one of his worst creations… Couldn’t even breathe fire.

He didn’t even know why he continued to make them. Honestly, he couldn’t think of anything else to make, and it was better to make something than nothing, even if he ended up creating the same thing over and over again, clinging to the memory of how one celestial duck had made Charlie smile.

Her smile was everything. Even Heaven couldn’t take that away, or… Maybe they could, if this meeting went awry. No. Please God, No. Not that. Anything but that. Kill the sinners. Show him the agonising mistake of Free Will for eternity, but he hoped to never see the day that Heaven treated his daughter with the same derision they typically reserved for him.

Lucifer froze, a glower darkening his expression as you knocked on the door.

He had clearly implied that he didn’t want to be bothered. IMPLIED IT! It hadn’t even been one day and you were bothering him.

Lucifer didn’t open the door. He didn’t want you to see inside his room. That was his space and his alone. Yet, he didn’t want any risk of you barging in, so he poofed himself to where you stood outside, using a glamorous entrance to grab your attention.

“Yes?” He said expectantly, leaning forward on his cane, as if leaning closer to you didn’t disturb him half as much as it did.

“Oh,” You blinked back surprise, though you weren’t too shocked seeing how Alastar always snuck up on you at the Hotel in a similarly flamboyant manor. “Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I just wondered if you could tell me where the cleaning products are kept? I would like to get started as soon as I can.”

Cleaning products? Lucifer was stuck on the sentiment as if he’d never heard of such foreign words. Then he seemed to remember, you had been volunteered as his cleaner. Right… That was Charlie’s way of making him take you.

You waited patiently for a response, having quickly learned that your host tended to drift between a fast-talking façade or thoughtful distractedness. You wished you didn’t have to ask him for help, but after searching three floors and the attic, you had gotten somewhat turned around, and you had no idea where you had already looked; the manor was massive.

Finally, Lucifer seemed to come to and he began boredly examining his hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” He stated demurely.

“It won’t?”

“No. It won’t.”

Behind you, Lucifer caught sight of a portrait of his family. The frame was carved blood-wood harvested from a Tree-Demon who once dared to insult Lilith in Lucifer’s presence. Two winged snakes adorned opposing corners of the portrait. With a lazy wave of his hand, they creaked and snapped, coming to life, and escaping their previous wooden home, leaving only indentations where they used to be. With another magical flourish, they grew slightly and became more life-like, shedding splinters as their new uniforms appeared.

“There, see, two half-sized cleaners. They’ll take care of everything.”

You stared hard at the new servants of the house, somewhat amazed by the show of power; nobody else in Hell could do anything close to creating life, and it seemed that Lucifer didn’t even care that he had such power.

Frankly, Lucifer was upset with his new creations. He had finally strayed from ducks, creating something new for the first time in over a century, and they were still bland. When he had created Razzle and Dazzle for Charlie, he had done everything he could to make them beautiful and unique. These abominations in front of him were cheap copies of that Sir Pentious fellow he had seen at the hotel. He just didn’t have anything left worth creating. There was no point.

Whatever. The snake servants would do their job quietly and obediently. And they’d be more useful and less annoying than Charlie’s reptilian friend.

“Oh, okay. Well, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” You asked, wishing to be useful. “I can cook pretty well, or I could run errands, or-”

“NO!” Lucifer snapped.

“But-”

“Don’t you get it?! I DON’T NEED YOU.”

Lucifer forced himself to take a calming breath, his gaze downcast so he didn’t have to look at you.

“This is all my daughter’s plan. All you have to do is stay out of my way here and Charlie will be happy. Do you think you can manage that?”

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #razzle #dazzle #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #sinless sinners #chapter 2 #part 2 #i don't need you #male reader

[the-kr8tor]

Claimed by the Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), reader has nicknames, TW injury, TW drowning, CW blood.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Chapter 2 >>> Chapter 3

Your head is lolling off to the side, eyes growing heavy with the soft swaying of the ship in the waves. The only thing that's keeping you awake is the smell of fish lingering in the netting. Sniffing, you feel yourself succumbing to sleep.

You jolt awake when the fishing net jostles then slowly raises up, there's a mechanical whirring from the deck. The sun is peeking from the horizon, bathing you in blue.

“No, no, no!” Holding onto the net, you hold on for dear life. You just hope the sailors are friendly enough to let you on board until they dock to the nearest land.

Your only sanctuary floats above the deck, overlooking every crew moving about. Looking below, you spot their rugged clothing *They don't look like sailors. Maybe they're not wearing their blue uniform? It's casual Friday perhaps?

“Drop the bloody thing!” Someone yells from below, you and the net fall from a height that you're sure broke something in you.

With your eyes shut, you hit the deck with a splattering sound. Thankfully you land on the pile of fish, squishing a sizable chunk on the wood; decorating their ship with fish guts. Your butt hurts from the impact, you're for sure going to be picking out fish bones embedded in your skin.

Someone gasps loudly next to you. Hearing frantic slashing sounds, you shield your face from the shiny knife. Before you know it, you're free from the tangles on the net, baring yourself to the entire crew.

“Fuckin' hell! It's a mermaid!” A man with long blonde hair tied into a bun excitedly yells out.

You look at him with wide eyes, the large black flag hangs above him, the skeleton of a spider painted on the flag dances in the wind.

They're not from the royal navy.

Running footsteps come towards you, then they stop. You watch as twenty or so people circle around your fallen form. You instinctively cover yourself with the net. Their faces morph from surprise to amusement. Some laugh, some roll their eyes in annoyance.

A man with glasses slaps the blonde upside his head. “You idiot! Does she look like a fuckin’ mermaid to you?” he points at your legs that are clearly not fins.

The blonde looks disappointed, “Man, I thought my dream came true”

“Looks like we've got a stowaway!” They sneer and jeer, looking down at you, leaning their scarred faces close to your face. Too close.

“Get off me!” You push one away. Taking a fish from the ground to defend yourself. Throwing it directly at his eyepatch. They laugh louder at your expense.

“She's a fighter too! Cap’n! Look at what the fish dragged in!” A man with a peg leg, calls.

With heaving breaths you watch as a large man comes down from the steps of the quarter deck. His heavy footfalls quieting the roaring laughter immediately, his arms are as big as your head, tattoos decorating every inch of his ivory skin. His big bushy beard moves as he spits on the deck. Your eyes flick to his tree trunk like waist, his gun and cutlass glinting in the barely rising sun.

He huffs, smoke comes out of his nostrils. His eyes stare you down and you visibly shrink.

“C’mon, big man, bloody move it” a slender hand grabs the man's large shoulder, moving him away to reveal a tall, slim figure. He smiles once he takes you in. “What do we have ‘ere?”

“A stowaway, Cap’n” the one with glasses informs him. “Got into the fishing net”

He saunters over to you, heavy boots thudding against the wood. The metals hanging from his clothes are swinging and clashing as he moves. The crowd parts for him. His hands are in his leather vest, he looks at you like he's found buried treasure. His grey eyes are twinkling in the blue light, a smirk playing on his pierced lips.

You grab your necklace for comfort, heart sinking to your stomach, the golden chain is nowhere to be found. You pat around your neck and blouse. Nothing. You're alone.

“Thought ol’ Jamesy ‘ere found us a mermaid” he bends at the waist, giving you a full view of his chiselled face. His eyes are shining with amusement.

You recognize his face from all the wanted posters you've seen around different towns while travelling. If the circumstances were different you'd say the painting didn't capture him right; how his eyes look at you with hidden apprehensiveness, yet there's something dangerous in them, something that could spell your doom.

Your fear increases tenfold when you roam your eyes around the different faces watching you. There's recognition in some of them, some more than others, their bounties you've seen on their respective posters appear above their heads; each in increasing numbers.

“Aye, thought so too” ‘Jamesy’ mumbles dejectedly.

His voice shakes you out of your fear laden stupor, but it's still there, still in your quaking heart and sweaty palms.

“Y’know, we don't take too kindly to stowaways.” Hobie’s threat makes you jump in your skin.

“I heard you're not kind to anybody” you grit your teeth.

You're facing him head on, despite your heart pumping loudly against your ribcage when you get a glimpse of his twin blunderbusses strapped to his waist.

A smile spreads on his face, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Hear that lads? We're proper famous!” he leans away,

They all guffaw, snickering among the crowd. A blonde with chopped hair and pink highlights push through the audience. She clicks her tongue, sleep clinging to her lashes.

“What's all this, Hobie?”

“A stowaway, Gwendy. You remember what we do to stowaways?”

‘Gwendy’ rolls her eyes. “I'm too tired for this,” she sighs. “Let's hear her side before we push her off, yeah?”

Push me off?! Your eyes are widely roaming around the strangers, pleading for an ounce of mercy.

“Be my guest” He slides to the side, gesturing towards you.

The blonde stares at you, waiting for some explanation. You can't help but think you remember her from somewhere but you're drawing a blank. Swallowing a lump in your throat, the fishy smell and the numerous eyes on you turns your stomach inside out.

“I was–” the large man you thought was the captain stares daggers at you. “It was an accident, really. You see, I was incredibly drunk” you try to stop the shaking in your voice to sound more convincing. “And I thought I was going home, truly.”

“You thought a fishing net was your home?” the entire crew laughs rambunctiously.

Hobie observes you from the side, leaning on the bannister so casually.

“Maybe we should just turn around and bring her home. That'll be okay, right?” A teenager with curly hair and golden bangles on his wrists pipes up from the side.

You think of the man waiting for you at the docks. You'd rather be fed to the sharks.

“Yeah, 'm sure she'd like that, won't you, scuttlebutt?” The captain smirks at you, there's a knowing look on his face. “Unless you don't want to go home? I don't see why we can't just drop you off.”

He moves closer to you, squatting down to face you. “Or she doesn't want to go home, judging from the go bag, this isn't some little drunk accident.” you can feel your pulse trying to escape. His eyes never leave yours. “Sure you smell like fish but I don't smell any liquor on those pretty lips of yours.” Hobie tilts his head, smiling mischievously. “You're running from someone, aren't you?”

You glare at him despite the fear crawling up your neck.

He nods, “Yeah, you are. We'd rather not be involved with whatever you've got goin' on.” his face turns serious, not even a ghost of a smile. “Finn”

With one call, the giant man takes you by the shoulders, standing you back to your shaky feet. You squirm, doing your best to push him off, but it's no use, he's too strong.

“Sorry to see you go so soon but I've got my entire crew to worry ‘bout.” he says softly.

You scoff, spitting venom. “The only thing you pirates care about is treasure and your next mark.”

With one last fight, you stomp on the man's boot clad foot, headbutting him in quick succession. They hoot and holler as your vision swirls.

Your act of defiance didn't even make the man flinch, he grunts, narrowing his eyes at you. Hobie's lackey turns you around to face the sea and the entrance to your death. Looking over your shoulder, you see him raise his thick eyebrow at you in mild annoyance.

“She's a feisty one, Hobie, you sure we can't let her stay? I'll take good care of her” A tall ravenette coos at you, staring directly at you with her dark eyes.

“I agree with Hobie, she might bring trouble” Another teenager comments, he crosses his arms, his eyes stare at you with remorse.

The man pushes you towards the open side of the ship where a singular wooden plank hangs precariously. The corner of the railing hits the small of your back. Your bag falls loudly on the deck, but you've got bigger problems right now than the sparse savings you've hidden inside.

“Wait!” You swallow your pride, it's better than drowning in the cold salty waters. “Please I'll do anything to stay or– or you can drop me off to the nearest land! Just–!” Finn pushes you again, your feet shuffle to fit the thin wood. The wind picks up, whipping at you wildly. The waves crash harshly on the side of the ship.

The vertigo makes you dizzy.

“Please! I can't–!”

Finn unsheathes his cutlass, pointing it at your heaving chest. You feel the sharp tip draw blood. He pushes and pushes until you're on the very edge of the plank. You struggle to find your balance while the wind blows rapidly, it stings your eyes, tears forming in them.

They all watch, some are grinning ear to ear like it's the best theatre show they've seen. The others are looking away or staring at their feet. Hobie looks on, posture straight, knuckles tight on his side.

“I can't swim–!” With one last push from the sharp sword, you fall.

Just above you, the pirates run towards the bannister to watch you fall in the water with a large splash.

Your back is stinging from the impact of the water, head pounding against your skull. The cold is unbearable like needles pricking your skin. You try to paddle up despite your thick clothes bringing you further down in the dark abyss. The dim light acts as your guide to the surface but it doesn't seem like your body is moving, you're quickly losing air. Bubbles escape from your lips, the salt blurs your vision.

Desperately with one kick, you feel the air from your lungs empty out, legs numb, hands reaching out towards the surface.

You choke on the salty water.

Her smiling face emerges from the darkness, now you know you've drowned. The only reason she would want you back is in death.

There's a muffled splash, a warm hand reaching for your cold ones. An unfamiliar arm snakes around your waist, bringing you up to the surface. They Frantically kick up, you feel a feather light touch on your freezing cheeks.

“Oi!” A muffled voice says. “Oi! Don't make me do mouth to mouth!” His voice gets clearer, he shakes your head, you feel calloused fingers on your skin then a breath fanning against your lips.

You splutter out, expelling water from your lungs with a choke. Holding to the nearest, steady thing, you grasp onto what feels like strong shoulders. Beneath your shaking fingers you feel raised scars.

“There you go, let it out, scuttlebutt” he pats your back as you continue to cough out. Your nails dig into his bare skin, he doesn't seem to mind. “Good on you for not makin’ me do mouth to mouth, huh?”

You wheeze out. “You fucker”

“What?”

“I said, you fucker!” Pushing him away, you sink back into the water, you panic once again.

Hobie grabs your wrist with one hand to pull you up like freshly caught fish. You glare at him through wet lashes.

“I saved your life and you're callin' me fucker?” You want to smack the smirk off his face.

“I almost drowned because of you!”

“Yeah, but that doesn't matter now because I saved your land loving arse! Who at this age can't swim anyway?!”

“Me, you bitch!” you try to kick him underwater.

“Hey, do you want to catch hyperthermia or what?” Gwendy asks from the lowered dinghy, her foot is resting on the edge casually, hand on her chin and a pierced eyebrow raised questioningly at you and Hobie who splashes water directly at your face.

With some help, you dog paddle to the boat. The smiling teenager helps you up, you feel like a ton of bricks with your thick clothes drenched.

“Here,” he takes his coat to place it around your shivering shoulders. “I'm Pavitr by the way, you okay?”

Pavitr tries to rub your shoulders for extra warmth but you flinch back, hugging the coat tighter around you.

“I'm fine, thank you, Pavitr”

The blonde pipes up, “I'm Gwen”

You nod, good thing you haven't called her ‘Gwendy’ yet.

“You needed the bath anyway, fish girl” Hobie scoffs from the other side of the boat.

You glare at him, huddled to yourself in the corner of the raising boat. The squeaking from the pulley makes you hold onto the side tighter, just in case it fails and drops you back down in the freezing water.

Hobie chuckles, water drips off his bare chest, glittering under the peaking sun. You look away with a roll of your eyes.

“Gwen, give her something warm to eat, yeah? And some clothes.”

“I was about to do that anyway”

The boat reaches back up, the crew secures the rope on the pulley with a grunt.

Hobie drops down on the deck first, he offers his hand that you huff at. Ignoring his help, you step on to the ship with shaky legs.

“Sea legs, you have to get used to it or the next two weeks for you would be hell.”

“What?”

“‘m letting you on board until we reach land. Unfortunately for you that won't be for the next two weeks. After that we're even.”

“Look who's guilty for almost killing me” you stand toe to toe with him. The rest of the crew has either gotten bored or are watching you two squabble with a smile.

“Don't push your luck, fish girl or I'll make you walk the plank again” he challenges you with a sly smile.

“I have a name!”

The captain tilts his head, amused. “Yeah? Tell me then so I have something to write on your gravestone”

You point angrily at his tattooed chest, right on the inky drawing of a long legged spider. “It's Y/N, asshole!”

Gwen sighs, waving you off.

“Well, Y/N Asshole, keep that fire in you but don't let it burn down my ship or–”

“Or what?”

He stares at your eyes, swirling grey whirlpools threatening to pull you under. Hobie sighs, turning around abruptly, leaving you standing alone on the deck.

“Hey!” You call back, “or what huh?!”

He waves you off, “‘s too early for this shit, ‘m goin' back to sleep. Goodnight, fish girl!”

Change of plans: survive the next two weeks with an entire ship full of pirates or die drowning in the middle of the sea. That should be easy enough, right?

A/N: Thank you for reading 😘

#between the devil and the sea #between the devil and the sea chapter 2 #between the devil and the sea series #BDAS #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie fluff #pirate!au #pirate! hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #hobie x reader #tw injury #tw drowning #fanfic

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: For the past five years, you've been traversing the Highlands in pursuit of ancient magic sites to master the all-consuming power from the repository. In the midst of your travels, you find yourself forced into an uneasy alliance with none other than Sebastian Sallow. He wants your help, but you want absolutely nothing to do with him.

At first, that is.

While the two of you learn to coexist in the same space again, you’re left wondering if you truly will be able to aid one another, or if your past mistakes will finally come to head after all these years and ultimately lead to your long awaited downfall.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+. aged up characters, canon-typical violence, kidnapping

Chapter 1 can also be found here on Ao3

You were getting really tired of running for your life. 

During your fifth-year turning tail and booking it was often heavily warranted, especially because it was usually being done as a result of you waking up hordes of Inferi, or stealing important artifacts from dark wizards that would then be out for blood. You liked to think you had grown out of that habit, but tonight was proving to be something of a trip down memory lane. 

You were being chased. Again. 

Tucking your knees to your chest, you ducked down and rolled through mud at the same time a Bombarda curse blew up a chunk of the tree ahead of you. It was a close call, but you could hardly stop to survey the extent of the damage when you could still hear the thugs behind you giving chase. 

“You daft idiots, grab her!” 

Another spell struck the ground where you’d landed moments before, but you were already on the move– dipping and weaving in a bid to dodge the attacks that were fired blindly at your back. It made no sense; you had never been intercepted at an ancient magic site before, and as far as you were concerned, there was no reason for anyone to take interest in a dilapidated ruin. Aside from using the crumbling fortress as a makeshift base, no Ashwinders or poachers had ever been lying in wait in what was otherwise deemed an unremarkable location. 

They had been this time, though. To make matters worse, they were looking for you specifically. 

Your name had been like a battle cry from their lips as you’d exited the rundown site, and you hadn’t bothered to stick around to find out whatever the hell it was they wanted with you. If you weren’t so tired and weary, you would have apparated yourself to safety in a heartbeat, but splinching yourself as a result of your carelessness wasn’t exactly at the top of your to-do list. So, you had bolted straight for the edge of the forest, doing your best to avoid colliding with the low hanging branches that scratched at your cheeks and ripped at your cloak. 

There was more yelling from behind you, only this time it sounded distinctly farther away. Chancing a look over your shoulder, you discovered that there was now ample distance between you and the goons chasing you, and you pivoted on your heels to head north for the river that separated the Clagmar Coast from Cragcroftshire. If you could reach the water, you would have a better chance of getting away and concealing your tracks in the process. 

At least, you hoped you would.

Lungs aching, you pushed yourself harder, your arms pumping at your sides as you lept over a fallen log in your path, and though you stumbled a bit upon landing, you remained upright and pressed on. Another spell whizzed past your head– the heat from the Confringo curse nearly singing your matted hair– but you ignored it and focused wholly on running. It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally reached the colossal ravine, immediately trying to formulate a plan that would result in you on the other side with your pursuers left behind. There was no bridge to repair, no loose boulders to form into a levitating staircase, nothing. Panic began to fester in your mind for a heartbeat before you steeled your nerves and banished the feeling entirely. Hysteria wouldn’t help you right now– it never had. 

“There– up ahead! Move your asses, dammit,” came the same voice from before. You turned to watch as a handful of masked assailants slid down the muddy embankment roughly fifty feet from you, and that sight alone spurred you into action. 

Your wand was ripped from the holster on your thigh, and you channeled every bit of magic in your body into it as you aimed for the largest tree across the daunting trench in front of you. The Accio charm wrapped around the top of the monstrous trunk, and with every ounce of strength you possessed, you pulled. It seemed impossible at first, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and the foreign power from the repository surged to life to give you the assistance you gravely needed. There was a deafening crack as the wood began to splinter and give way under your ministrations, muting the onslaught of footsteps that grew nearer and nearer. With one final pull your efforts were rewarded, and the massive evergreen tipped towards you slowly before gravity caught up to it, sending it plummeting towards where you stood. 

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It was a philosophical question– one that you had never thought about much before– but you had always assumed that with no one around, there would never be any way to know. Presently there were multiple people around, and as it turned out, a falling tree did make a sound. 

As you dove out of the way, the pine covered top of the tree arched past where you had been standing, stretching over the shrinking space between you and the encroaching strangers behind you. Most of them saw the gargantuan tree heading straight for them and jumped out of the way, their shrill screams echoing throughout the forest and bringing a small smile to your face. A few others weren’t so lucky, and you watched as the peaked top of the tree swallowed them whole and buried them beneath a heavy thicket of pine needles. 

Seizing your opportunity, you ran for the makeshift bridge and hauled yourself on top of the rough trunk, shoving and kicking at the spindly branches that stood in your way as you practically clawed your way through to the other side of the ravine. You didn’t dare look back, keeping your eyes trained ahead as you focused on maintaining your footing and not getting thrown off balance by your satchel. 

It looked like a hurricane had torn through the earth when you finally emerged at the base of the tree. You hopped down and landed in the deep, root-riddled crater that had previously held the evergreen upright before running to the side to gauge where your attackers were. Most were still gathering their bearings while others attempted to drag their comrades out from under the suffocating weight of the branches. You hardly spared their survival a second thought as you pointed your wand at the center of the tree and cast, “Confringo!” 

The flames grew rapidly and without mercy, frantic calls of “hurry” and “get them out of there” reaching your ears as you spun towards the forest and disappeared into the treeline. There was no knowing how much time you had bought yourself, but you weren’t about to squander any of it for a second. 

You ran, and you did not look back. 

***

One would assume that after two years of living in abandoned hovels and scrounging up scraps to eat with your bare hands, you’d be used to being cold, wet, and miserable. Hell, you had learned more about yourself since leaving Hogwarts than you’d ever thought possible, including just how resilient and resourceful you could be. Rain storms, stale bread, and a lack of clean water had never deterred you for long, and through all the trials and tribulations you found yourself facing, you always managed to pull through. 

Tonight, however, you allowed yourself to be sullen. 

The torrential downpour you’d been caught up in somehow managed to slip through the canopy of trees overhead, and as a result, you were encased in a cold, wet, dreary darkness. It had been two hours of trudging through mud and frigid temperatures, and by now you were caked in a thick layer of grime that you desperately wanted to rid yourself of. Charming away the mess was pointless– it wouldn’t be long before you were covered in muck once again– and you’d learned long ago that using magic while in the middle of a void forest was a bad idea, especially when you were trying to remain undetected. 

After the events from earlier in the day, you had decided to head straight for the next site marked on your map to make camp and settle down for the night. However, you were still a day away from reaching the location, no thanks to the dark wizards that had chased you in the opposite direction. Your stubbornness and desire to reach your destination is why you currently found yourself on the outskirts of civilization, trying and failing to fend off the elements to get the journey over with, but the bone-deep chill that wracked your body was beginning to weaken your resolve. 

You were exhausted. 

Thunder rumbled overhead, long and loud amidst the sound of raindrops pelting against the dirt, and with a disappointed sigh, you made up your mind. If memory served you correctly, the town of Bainburgh was roughly a two mile walk west of the forest. Your paranoia told you it was too risky to set foot in a legitimate establishment, but your numb limbs and wet boots squashed your fears before they could come to head. Staying outside for the entire night would likely leave you dead, and there were few other options to choose from. 

So, you marched. It took roughly forty minutes to traverse the jagged, rocky landscape in the dark, slowed down by the stray roots that stuck out of the ground and worked to trip you in your haste. By the time you made it into town, you were soaked to the bone and shivering violently enough that you were certain passersby could hear. The tavern was helpfully the largest building at the end of the road, and you headed straight for it without sparing any of the town’s denizens a second glance. 

The warmth that greeted you as soon as you entered was beyond welcoming, and you tugged the door shut behind you before beelining straight for the firepit in the middle of the room. Your hands were so numb that you practically had to submerge them in the flames to feel any semblance of reprieve, and a few onlookers cast wary glances your way. Between the mud that coated your lower half and the water that dripped from every fiber of your clothing, you realized you had to look like a walking disaster, and that sobering thought had you tucking your hands under your armpits as you hurried to the bar at the back of the room. 

The older gentleman wiping down the counter turned to face you, his aged face showing obvious alarm and concern when he caught sight of you. “Merlin’s beard girl, you look like you’ve been dragged straight through hell.” 

You flashed him a bashful smile, though you were certain it looked like more of a grimace. “You could say that. You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms available for the night, would you?” 

With practiced efficiency, he tossed the rag he’d been holding over his shoulder and shuffled over to the cabinet at the edge of the bar, opening the squeaky glass panel that housed the keys for the rentable rooms. “Ordinarily the answer would be no, but that damned storm blowing through has business movin’ slow. I’ve got two rooms left, one with a bath and the other without.” 

Your heart soared as you hastily replied, “The one with the bath, please.” Without missing a beat, you snatched your weighty coin purse from your belt and dropped it on the wooden surface. The barkeeper raised his white, bushy brows in silent surprise as he tentatively picked up the drawstring sac, plucking ten gold pieces from within before handing it back to you. The bronze key he deposited in front of you had a wooden tag dangling from the end that read ‘13’, and for the first time in nearly two weeks you found yourself genuinely smiling as your fist closed around the cool metal. 

“Up the stairs and on your left,” he instructed you. “Kitchen is open for another hour if you’re tryin’ to grab a bite before bed, but I’d wager you’re more interested in the runnin’ water.” The way his eyes fell to your soiled clothing didn’t escape you. You almost felt bad for tracking all the mud and water through the lobby.

Twenty minutes later, you had a warm loaf of bread and a small wedge of cheese tucked away in your bag as you ascended the rickety staircase. The decor within the aged tavern was modest, save for the silver plaques that adorned each door with their respective room numbers. Finding your own was a non-issue, and as soon as you were inside the sanctity of the rented space, you let loose a breath that you’d seemingly been holding since setting foot into town. Now wasn’t the time to let your guard down, but you weren’t about to turn your nose up at clean linens and running water. 

Moving quietly, you stripped down to your undergarments and tossed your ruined clothing in the corner of the bathroom, then cranked the tub’s faucet to the highest setting and left it to fill. The bread from the kitchen had cooled some, but it hardly made a difference to you as you ripped off a piece and ate it with the cheese you’d purchased. Fresh food was a rarity for you these days, and you savored every bite as you paced the length of the room. With your hunger sated and your looming bath just around the corner, you allowed yourself to think back to the last few weeks, and you pondered just why dark wizards were looking for you.

Understandably, the whole situation reminded you of your fifth-year. Suddenly you were fifteen again, being hounded and hunted by Ranrok and Rookwood alike for simply existing. At that time they had wanted something from you; your abilities, your information, and most prudent of all, your silence. You’d known too much back then, but those times had passed, and both Ranrok and Rookwood were now dead– at your hands, no less. 

So why would anyone be looking for you? Who were they to you? What did they want? 

It wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest to discover that you had more enemies lurking in the shadows. The stunts you’d pulled and the things you’d gotten away with back then were bound to catch up with you, but you hated not knowing. The whole reason you’d left Hogwarts after graduation without so much as a word to anyone was precisely because you didn’t want your whereabouts known. The line between friend and foe had started to blur towards the end, though you acknowledged that it was mostly your fault.

You hadn’t turned Sebastian in, but you also hadn’t moved to stop Ominis from doing so. 

With him imprisoned in Azkaban and Ominis reeling from the decision, it was no wonder the two of you had drifted apart in the years that followed. Anne’s curse worsening had only exacerbated Ominis’ feelings, and you’d graciously stayed out of his way anytime you saw him around school. Natty had never fully recovered from Harlow’s use of the Cruciatus curse on her, and your guilt had in turn driven you further away from her. Poppy was the only person you’d stayed in touch with for the remainder of your academic life, but she was too good a person to drag down with your… issues. You’d ultimately been the one to cut contact with her following your seventh-year, and while you’d felt bad about it at first, you knew it was for the best. 

After tonight, that decision had proven to be the right one. If you really were being tracked, were any of your former friends targets for information? Did this impromptu, wild goose chase have anything to do with your volatile abilities from the repository? Had you unwittingly put them in harm's way simply because they knew you? 

The bread in your mouth had gone soft, and you shook the pointless thoughts from your mind as you finished off your mediocre dinner and made for the bathroom. The warmth from the water was divine and single-handedly chased away any lingering doubts about holing up in a public place for the night. For just this once, you would gladly trade sleeping in the cold, wet dirt for the pending restlessness and paranoia that was bound to greet you, and greet you it did. 

After climbing under the itchy but clean blankets, you stared wide eyed up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Every squeak of a floorboard, every booming laugh that echoed up the stairs, every shadow that darted past your window, all had your heart racing. Even after checking twice that the two points of entry were indeed firmly locked, your nerves wouldn’t steady. Your skin crawled with unease at the prospect of being blindsided in an unfamiliar place, and at one point you even began pacing the length of the tiny room just to tire yourself out. 

Eventually, you came to a grinding halt at the foot of the bed, your hands curling into fists as you sucked down a slow, deep breath. “You’re fine,” you murmured to yourself. “You’re fine. It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re fine.” 

Maybe if you repeated it enough times you would start to believe it. 

The second time you crawled beneath the prickly sheets your brain was still running in overdrive, but you were far less fidgety than before. You had no clue how you managed it, but eventually your eyes drifted shut– and even if it ended up being a fitful bout of sleep, you would be grateful for the few hours of shut eye you managed to acquire. 

Gratitude went right out the window, however, when you were startled awake by a whispered, “Petrificus totalus.” 

Your body locked up– stiff and unable to move an inch below the scratchy covers– and before you even had the chance to glance in the direction of the disembodied voice, they whispered a different sort of charm. 

One that made your world go dark.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow x female!reader #my writing #I have every intention of posting chapter 2 soon cause I'm not used to putting out short stuff and this shit is PUNY #sebastian isn't even in this chapter maybe that's why I don't vibe with it LMAO #wip: the serpent’s paramour #WIP TSP

[seecarrun]

“Tah-dah.”

The combination of the deadpan tone and the perky little spirit finger wiggles is enough to make Eddie roll his eyes and scoff at Richie’s antics, so he opens his mouth and starts to call him a fucking idiot.

That is, until he actually gets a look at what it is Richie is showing him.

There, carved into the old wood of The Kissing Bridge, are the letters R+E.

He blinks down at them in something like surprise. “The fuck is this?” he asks. Richie frowns, irritated.

“It’s our fucking initials. What the fuck does it look like?”

“Well, why are our initials carved here?” Eddie asks, not meanly or anything, but definitely bewildered. “Who the fuck wrote our initials here?” He steps closer and bends down to get a better look. “This looks old. Is this from when we were kids? I never noticed this before. Did someone do this to make fun of us or something? Why wouldn’t they tell us? Did they tell you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Richie waits for Eddie to finish the worst game of twenty-questions in history, exuding the kind of patience he didn’t even know he was capable of as Eddie goes on for what feels like forty fucking minutes.

“Dude,” he finally bursts out, unable to take it anymore, “I carved those. Me. Jesus Christ.”

Eddie blinks up at him, all eyes and freckles, confused. “You did this?”

“Yes.”

“When we were kids?”

“Yes.”

“So…” Eddie looks at the wood and then back at Richie again, and Richie tries not to burst into a million pieces as he sees the cogs slowly turning in Eddie’s head.

“Oh my god, get there faster!” he finally snaps, and Eddie shoots him a glare.

“Shut the fuck up, dude! You had thirty years to know about this shit, I’ve had thirty fucking seconds, I’m fucking processing!” Richie throws his arms into the air and does a weird, exasperated little circle as Eddie continues to inspect the carving, his brows furrowed. “You carved our initials into the kissing bridge when we were kids,” he states again, just to hear the whole thing put together, and gingerly runs his index finger over the plus-sign. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Richie asks, cringing.

“Obviously not, if I’m fucking asking.”

Richie’s heaves a sigh. “I liked you,” he finally admits. Somehow, the world doesn’t end. He briefly thinks teenage-Richie would have been surprised by that.

Eddie traces his finger along the E now, slowly. “You liked me back?” he says, so quietly it takes Richie a moment too long before he realizes what Eddie said.

“Wait, back?!”

(Part 2 here)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #car’s fanfiction #story starter maybe? I could see myself finishing this I think 🤔 #it chapter 2