#restitch some things

[dippyface]

horrified to discover I've been using dmc B5200 (top) for this piece and not dmc BLANC (bottom). which like. I cannot tell the color difference but. I am being driven insane by the fuzz of the floss and blanc seems less fuzzy to me....

#i think i need to just trust the processs and will be better off continuing and seeing how i feel at the end and maybe restitching things #that look fuzzy then OR using some black to correct it. but rn 💀😐💀😐💀 #maybe beeswax for some detail areas later. #IDKDJJEJWJWJ #tjis isn't a joke

[housefreak]

better call saul.... too bad I wanna finish my cross stitch I won't be able to watch chuck die tonight......

#i have to rework some things on the pattern & restitch some bits that i change sad but i simply . love fiddling #that leg does need to change tho it just doesnt look right LOL & the ears dont but they might be more. dobermanesque if i can figure it out

[liveontelevision]

Demon Barber | Lucifer X Reader

IT'S DONNNEEEE

FuCk i slaved away on this one but y'all wanted a novel, so here she is!

Content Warning: Smutsmutsmutsmut +18, a little bit of angst and fluff, and Lucifer and Reader being kind of shitty people

☆☆☆

Everybody knew how much of an icon Queen Lillith was. She immediately blew up any form of media when she started uplifting demonkind. As time went on and more sinners were sent to Hell, a ripple effect of styles and trends rang throughout the city. It was important to Lillith to stay up to date with them. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t keep up. She decided to take the opportunity to bring a new face to her team. At that point, the Morningstar family had already hired a handful of imps to keep little things in line, but this was a position that needed the point of view of a sinner on the streets.

Lucky you, you were one of the first sinners to work personally with the most powerful couple in Hell! You weren't that different from anyone else, but you are a chronic people watcher. It was an important hobby that helped you keep up with what everyone was decorating themselves with. A perfect pair of eyes for adorning the most beautiful creatures in the realm in a modern fashion. You started your glamorous job a couple of thousands of years before the Hotel was built. Even with your immense age, you did a surprisingly good job at keeping an open mind and becoming knowledgeable in most cosmetic and costuming work. You managed to make it through every extermination and more in this career. The protection from being housed with royalty definitely had its benefits.

On your first day, you went through Lillith's already existing wardrobe, in awe at the quality and unique aesthetics that she had. Even with your praises on her gowns, she insisted she needed your knowledge of street style incorporated into her wardrobe. You definitely fit into the Pride ring of hell at that point. The queen of Hell needs your personal opinion on what she wears? That went straight to your head. You became the head of a team and were credited with dressing up Lillith in some of her most iconic outfits. It didn't exactly bring you any fame, you weren't advertised or really credited in any other form than writing. Sometimes, if Lillith was put in an outfit she really enjoyed and her makeup and hair lasted through an entire performance, she'd give a little shout-out. You didn't really mind, you loved doing what you did, and the sweet praises Lillith gave you sufficed your need for validation. It felt amazing to see her face plastered all over Pentagram City, and being able to say hey, I did that. The salary helped, too.

As time went on, you noticed how little Lucifer made public appearances. When he did they were exclusively with Lillith at his side. And of course, he looked.. He was definitely a handsome ruler, but he didn’t have a lot of variety in his wardrobe. And it wasn't exactly up to your or Lillith's standards. She would often suggest taking some styling tips from you, almost begging at times, but he would refuse every time. You did little things, steaming and restitching his wardrobe, doing some touch-up makeup for shoots, but his suit? It stayed the same almost every day.

One day, Lucifer suddenly had a change of heart. He looked disheartened but begrudgingly agreed to be dolled up for a shoot that was happening soon. You were almost as ecstatic as Lillith was, getting this chance.

"I want you to give it your all, dear. Maybe I can convince him to do some more in the future if all goes well..." She'd tell you in a hushed tone, the two of you standing in front of the double doors that led to your studio." Do what you do best!" She said cheerfully, her hand on the small of your back. She practically throws you into the room once it's open, leaving you alone with Lucifer. There was no music, none of your other artists had shown up yet, and the only thing you could hear was your breath shaking. You breathed in heavily, then put on your best customer service face as you exhaled. You played professionally at the beginning, but it's always easier having some personality and small talk when you're planning on being in close proximity to clients for so long.

"Your Majesty! I hope you're doing well today, I'm glad you decided to join us this time!" You spoke in your people-pleaser voice, trying to hide the nerves that suddenly washed over your body. "Why the change of heart?" You started questioning, in a desperate attempt to find some sense of small talk with the intimidating figure seated in front of you. As you spoke, you stepped in front of the vanity he was seated at, having to stretch by his crossed legs to lay out your supplies. "I'm doing fantastic. Obviously." He spoke in an aggravated tone. You sucked in your lips, unsure if you should laugh. Luckily he didn't need a response before answering your other question. "You've seen Lily, she can be quite convincing." He puffed out his chest in his seated position, insinuating something vulgar. Your eye twitched, trying your best to not let them roll.

That didn't stop your face from heating up, the image suddenly materializing in your head. You cleared your throat, turning your attention back to the array of makeup brushes and some colored powders you had picked out specifically for this shoot." She is a beauty, I agree." You felt the need to respond in some way before getting to work.

You loved doing your job. No matter who you worked on, you'd always focus on your technique before anything else, which helped calm you down while you delicately held Lucifer's jaw, twisting his head around to get a general idea of what you were working with. You examined a solid purple bruise that decorated his neck before he had the chance to stop you. "Oh! I just - ran into a doorknob. Yeeah.. I.. tripped." He rambled a pathetic excuse, learning away from your touch." Sure, let's go with that." You replied, finally rolling your eyes at his words. "But you said it yourself, the Queen is indeed quite convincing." You teased, twisting around and grabbing a brush. When you went to move behind his chair to start running a comb through his impossibly soft golden hair, you caught how red he had turned at your remark." Oh, it's okay, I'm just teasing. You know how long I've worked on Lillith, I've had to cover way worse." You added, genuinely thinking that would help calm him down. He let out a quiet groan of embarrassment, smacking his hand against his face.

It went silent for a while as you worked on his hair. You saw how it usually was put up, and you didn’t want to scare him with too drastic of a change, so you only added some subtle layers that left it a bit fluffier than normal. You’d stop every now and then, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at your work in the mirror. He'd flinch at your touch each time, leaving you concerned at first, then just giving him a suck it up attitude for the rest of your session. You went on to do something that didn't need your full attention and looked over his shoulder to get a peek at his phone screen that he used as a buffer for the awkward silence. It displayed a little calendar, he swiped through each day mindlessly. "Looks like you have a packed schedule, huh? How's that been going?" He looked up and pulled his phone into his lap, a squint across his face. "It's fine, I'm handling it. It's my job after all, ya know. Important things." He didn't seem to want to get into too much detail, so you let out a nervous chuckle and agreed before immediately finding some music to play to cover your mistake. You were convinced he would fire you at that point. Or worse.

As you finished up, you viewed him from multiple angles, twisting him around in the chair. You leaned down a bit, your eyes at his level then reached both your hands out and took the pieces of hair that framed his face, curling them up a bit at his cheeks. You stepped back again and placed your hands on your hips, letting out a satisfied hum.

He definitely calmed down by the time his hair was done, leaving behind the crude jokes and little rude quips from before. Now onto the makeup. This was far more intimate, so you gave him a quick rundown as you rummaged through your things." Alright, you definitely don't need any makeup, since your skin is perfect, but there's a chance the cameras and the lighting could wash you out, so I'll just use a blurring effect with this pow - " you stopped talking when you saw his confusion." I'm.. I'm gonna doll you up. Basically.." You summarized it bluntly. It was clear to you how uncomfortable he was with being touched excessively, you did your best to accommodate. You applied some translucent powders to his skin, then brightened up the cute little red circles on his face, after mentally kicking yourself for thinking of them as cute. This is the king of Hell, knock it off. You cleaned up the heavy bags under his eyes, then noticed a tired purple hue to his eyelids. Going in with a lilac color, you emphasized them.

As you were gathering some other things, stepping back a bit, he turned his head to look at his appearance in the mirror. He was expecting some ridiculous and dramatic work, but he really just looked brighter. More alert, more alive. He shut one of his eyes to see the color you had added to his lids, "I.. like that.." He spoke quietly and sounded surprised as if he didn't want to admit that to you. You let out a little chuckle, the compliment completely going to your head, before passively scolding him for touching his face before you had finished. He let his hands fall back into his lap with a pout on his face. Adding any color to his eyes or lips required precision, so you were lifting up his face by his chin to do what you do best. You were honestly a little surprised about how well he handled the rest of the session. For someone who's refused any sort of cosmetics for literal centuries, he looked like he was enjoying the pampering.

You had only worked on Lillith before, and even if she was intimidatingly gorgeous, you adapted to being physically close to her. Going into a sort of auto-pilot mode, you held your breath, tracing out his best features. Pulling away to check on his full appearance again, you noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath as well. He finally let it out once you stepped away, his face already a little flushed. You didn't think too much about it, you were mainly annoyed that the composition of the makeup was being thrown off by this sudden blush.

"Well! Once wardrobe comes in, you'll be taken down to set. What do you think?" You stood behind his chair and spun him back around to face the mirror. He leaned in, making sure not to touch his face since you scolded him before. He moved his head around, even admiring the coverage of the hickey that Lillith so generously gifted him." Hm! I suppose this works. As long as Lillith likes it, that is." His voice wasn’t enthusiastic, but you recognized the satisfaction plastered across his face. He looked up to meet your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "She's right, you are good at what you do, I'll give you that." You gave a little nod and began to pack up your things. "I'm glad it's acceptable, your highness." You pulled up some finger quotes as you spoke the word acceptable. "You were really nice to work on actually, your hair looks great and your face is already near perfection, so I didn't need to do much. Plus, you sat very well." You spoke nonchalantly, compliments like that coming as second nature in this field.

You turned once more and bowed your head a bit before sending a smile his way. His eyes were wide, and it looked like he was struggling to stiffen a grin. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist and looking to the side. "G-Good.. Glad you enjoyed the.. Uh - Enjoyed it.." His voice muffled behind his hand. You didn't overthink his nervous reaction since you were in a hurry to get Lillith ready next. "Oh, for sure! I hope I see you around more often! I'm sure the shoot will be great." You chimed in, finally dipping out of the room as a crowd of imps barged in, finishing up his look.

The rest of the day was spent getting Lillith ready for the shoot, which took considerably longer than Lucifer's preparations. The whole time you chatted with her about how Lucifer did, calling her out on the damned bruise that you had to cover up, and general catch-up that had become routine at this point. Once everything was up and moving, you floated around the set fixing up some small details on both Lillith and Lucifer's look when needed. And of course, the shots they got were fantastic. You couldn't stop yourself from admiring your work once the posters and advertisements were distributed.

That was the first time you worked with Lucifer. Not much changed after, you became a little more popular around the staff; getting complimented on how you dressed him and answered some silly questions about what he was like. You did see him around more often, and you’d make small talk. After a few weeks, while working on Lillith, she brought up another shoot that was proposed for a big event coming up. "And get this! Lucifer asked me to put him in the shoot!" She was absolutely giddy to tell you the news. "Well, of course, he wants to be in the shoot, it's because I prettied him up so well!" You bragged in a joking tone, making Lillith let out a sultry chuckle. She placed her hand over yours, a sincere smile across her already-painted lips. "Thank you, dear. He needs the pampering sometimes." You blushed at the sudden contact and grinned in response.

---

Lucifer did in fact join that shoot. The process was about the same, but he seemed to engage in conversation more and asked more questions about what you were doing at each step. It warmed your heart to talk about your passions, you were unknowingly gushing about your interests every time he asked.

As the years went on, he joined more and more shoots, accompanied Lillith to more public appearances, and generally just wanted your opinions on his looks more often. It didn't take long for you two to become close. He'd ask for help on outfits, sometimes becoming a nervous wreck about what to wear on dates. With his wife. It was adorable the way he worried about how he looked after being with Lillith for so long and essentially running a new world together. He seemed to really enjoy having his hair and makeup done, occasionally making a fuss if you weren't the one to do it. You would scold him, talking about how he's wasting your time, and that you trained each of your stylists, so he has to trust them. He pouted the whole time.

Being around the power couple of the century unfortunately had its flaws. Like having to witness its downfall. Both of them became quieter a decade or two before Lillith's disappearance. Any time you'd try and tell a funny story about Lucifer to Lillith, she would change the topic almost immediately. On the opposite end, Lucifer wasn't supplying you with the same amount of jokes and puns as usual and reverted back to flinching at your touch. You couldn't ask about what was going on, that'd be rude.. Right?

"You know, Lillith was just talking about some sort of Gala for the Sins, are you going with her?" You had some hidden intentions by bringing this up while you were fixing Lucifer up for his day. "A Gala, huh? Haven't heard anything about that, so - I guess not!" He blurted out, clearly irritated. Shit. " Are.. Are you okay? Is something going on?" You leaned against the back of the vanity, stopping what you were doing to give him your full attention." Well, if you want to talk about it, that is.. Aaand as long as I won't get in trouble by asking." You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest. That happened once or twice, but it was for little things; spoiling an anniversary gift one time, or accidentally getting an imp fired when you were venting about workplace struggles. "Yeah, of course it's okay! We're fine. It's fine. I'm fine! Stop asking so many questions!" He got increasingly aggressive as he spoke, you threw your hands up, stepping away and returning to the back of his chair. "Okay, okay! I believe you, jeez!" You responded to it as a joke, hoping you could recover.

You didn't talk about it after that, lifting his mood a bit by asking about his projects and other little things. As you finished up his hair, you noticed him closing his eyes and leaning his head into your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair to coat it with some kind of styling product. He'd fallen asleep in the past, so you didn't worry about it too much. You went on to work on his makeup. He asked you recently if you wouldn’t mind coming up with a more subtle everyday look for him. Apparently he just really liked your work. Or, he needed the pampering. Either way, you couldn't refuse.

He was loving the treatment today. He would hum every time you used your thumb to brush a speck off his cheek, and would start leaning forward when you stopped touching him. You pushed him back by his chest mindlessly, just needing him to sit back in his chair.

You then started to apply makeup to his eyes. Covering the bags underneath them became increasingly difficult throughout the years. You pulled him in like usual, your hand lightly leading his head up towards your face. When you paused at some point to evaluate whatever you were doing, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, then flashing a quick peak at your bust that had been accentuated by your stance. He leaned back, a nervous look on his face.

"Um, hello?? I was kind of in the middle of something! That’s it. Tell me what’s wrong." You scoffed, confusion and irritation plastered across your face. He quickly dismissed it, letting you work again. He could feel your shallow breathing fan across his face as you went on. His breath was picking up, heart rate elevating as you kept this proximity. The leather on the armrests of his chair squeaked as he gripped his claws into the fabric.

After a while, you silently leaned back, only now noticing him falling apart. He leaned in slightly, dropping his jaw to let out a shaky breath. He would've hit your face if you hadn't stepped away. Possibly even met your lips.

"Uh – Your higness..?" You were oblivious, so you decided to question this behavior. He popped his eyes open and immediately leaned back into his chair." A-Are you done yet?" He squeaked out, examining the damage he had done to your chair with a nervous chuckle. "I'll uh.. I'll get you a new chair." He muttered, before looking into the mirror for just a moment. "Looks good to me! Excellent job as usual, my dear, I better get going, I have a meeting to get to so – " You watched in silent confusion, seeing him squirming and screwing up his words. He quickly stood up, not assessing how close he would be to you and how close your back was to the vanity. You stumbled backward, placing your hands on the vanity to keep yourself from falling any farther, and acting as a buffer between the counter and Lucifer. He tripped over your stumbling feet, his flailing arms landing beside yours. You were effectively trapped, his knee had bent between your legs while trying to find his balance.

A moment of silence. All you heard was the beating of your heart ringing in your ears. He looked down at you in a way that clouded your judgment. Neither of you said anything, but you fluttered your eyes shut subconsciously. He did the same, then cocked his head to the side and slowly lean into your face. He roped his arm around your waist, pulling you forward a bit, but not quite flush to his chest. Yet. You felt his shaky breath fanning over your lips, before snapping back into reality. "No! Nope - " You quickly broke free of his arms and began cleaning up your things, avoiding his gaze as it followed you frantically getting your things together. "You have a meeting, right? I just finished up, so you should be all good now! I'll just – I-I'll see you around! Have a good day, sir!" You quickly left the room, not letting him get a single word in. He reached out to you as you left as if that would suddenly draw you back towards him, but of course, it did nothing. "Well, shit." He let out bluntly, waiting for a moment in your own studio before b-lining it back to his office.

What the fuck was that?

You avoided Lucifer after the incident, and he seemed to respect that. He let one of your stylists do his daily pampering, knowing that stopping that routine would cause too much suspicion. He didn't enjoy it as much, but stopping altogether would make Lillith ask about it. Fuck. Lillith. A flood of emotions wash over you. In reality, you were closer to Lillith than her husband. You two gossiped and chatted on the daily. It was a struggle to face her after this, but what choice did you have? 

She was completely silent during her last few sessions, so you drowned out your guilty thoughts with music. She disappeared a few years after that. You absolutely panicked. So did many of the staff members, but your sole concern was if it was your fault. You were quick to find Lucifer after the announcement was made, only to see him in your studio, running his hands across the rack of gowns that Lillith had left. "Lucifer. What happened? Where did she go? What did she say?" You rambled approaching him, but being careful not to get too close. "She didn't say anything. She left a half-assed note, and she's just.. Gone." He pulled a dress into his arms and gripped it tightly before letting it drop to the floor. He let out a vicious roar, throwing the rack to the side." How could she do this?! What about the kingdom? What about Charlie? Dammit.. What did I do?? We slept next to each other that night.. The same night she left… I-I could’ve stopped her, I should've - She just disappeared..!" He rambled on, quickly unraveling in front of you. You watched his tail and horns start to form, and you hesitantly gripped his shoulder. He finally stopped, taking a deep breath before turning to face you. He hadn't looked into your eyes since..

His horns shrunk back into his temples before he let his head fall onto your shoulder. You almost stepped away, but.. He needed this. And you needed answers. "Sir.. Was it because.. Did she leave because of me..?" You spoke softly, your breath a cool sensation against his heated skin. He quickly shot up, planting his hands on your shoulders and looking at you with a stern expression. "No! No, I promise it wasn't your fault. Fuck, none of that was your fault. She.. I-I'm not sure why she left, but that's not your burden to bear." He spoke calmly, a stark contrast to the raging mess he just displayed moments ago. 

You two stood there for a while, his hands drifted down to hold your arms. What was he supposed to do now? He looked around the room for some kind of answer. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pulled into a tight embrace, his head just barely reaching the top of your shoulder. "It's gonna be okay.. I’ll be here, Lucifer. No matter what." It felt.. weird for a moment. This was the first time you'd gotten close to him this way. And actually, the first time you'd said his name without any sort of title. He let out another exhausted sigh, his hands snaking around your back and accepting the much-needed affection. As his head pressed against your collarbone, you stood there until he decided he’d had enough. You were there for a while.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault, but after that, you didn’t work much. There really wasn't a lot to do, without someone pushing public appearances and emphasizing the importance of image, you generally just mended and fixed up the staff's uniforms and Lucifer’s wardrobe. You were technically a stylist, but you've been doing this long enough that you could handle these jobs entirely by yourself. Actually, you did handle the job by yourself. Lucifer fired or sent most of the previously employed stylists away, along with most of the staff. About five years into Lillith's disappearance, the place had widdled down to a handful of workers. Some in the kitchen, basic housekeeping, a noisy secretary to answer some calls, and you. You started to question why he kept you around. You hated to admit that you still blamed yourself for Lillith leaving, but why else would she suddenly disappear? She was cold to you as soon as you kissed – almost kissed – Lucifer that day. You tried your hardest to avoid that thought process since you stuck around the mansion.

You were surprised to find out that Lucifer accepted an invitation to be on the cover of a magazine for Helluva Times. He hadn't needed makeup or hair done since Lillith left, and in reality, you barely saw him around. You were ashamed about how excited you were to see him again. Of course, it won't be the same as before, but you were looking forward to it nonetheless. You were taken to the studio where the shoot was being held since the one in the mansion was turned into more of a workspace for mending clothing. The studio was brightly lit and bustled with imps and some stylish sinners doing their part. You wondered if It was always like this, or if it was just because of Lucifer. You approached the vanity, the king of Hell seated in a movie set chair, with a golden star on the back, his name embroidered to the center. You were stopped in your tracks when you saw the dark circles that surrounded his eyes. Jesus, he was exhausted. You weren’t exactly surprised, more like distressed. Now that you think about it, Lillith really did a lot of heavy lifting when it came to keeping Hell in line.

"Your Highness." You gave him a little smile and nodded your head, beginning to display your usual setup on the vanity in front of him. "Heyyy! You..! Good to see you, Ahha.. ha.. h-how've you been..? How's... work been..?" He put on a fake smile and propped his head on his hand in a sad attempt to act casual. He switched to crossing his arms, unable to sit still and make eye contact with you at the same time. You didn't know how to react. The last time he was this nervous, he ended up pinning you to a table with his arms around you. You quickly got to work, trying to get the image of that day out of your head.

You go to comb his hair, recognizing that it's been a while since he let anyone tend to it; it was nearly grown to the bottom of his neck and wasn't exactly the cleanest. "Do you have wrinkle-free, clean, clothes every day?" You asked in response to his nervous ramblings from earlier. He nodded slowly," Then work is fine." You picked up on the sudden attitude you had, and it even surprised you. He quickly shut his mouth and started to spin the wedding band on his finger as a nervous fidget.

You had to put some effort in since he wasn't getting the same attention he used to. You gave his golden locks some much-needed attention, running a number of products through them and taking the time to restore it to its usual length. You found yourself peaking at his face every now and then, which he didn't notice. He was too indulgent to even keep his eyes open. You tried to stop yourself from looking at his relaxed expression, but you found yourself turning away only when he opened his eyes. You checked the clock, you definitely had some time for a more thorough session. You dug your fingers just a bit deeper into his hair, lightly running your nails across his scalp. In several swirling motions, you had him melting in your hands. You had to stop every now and then and push his head back up after it lulled to the side. It usually kept him alert for a moment, but it never lasted long. He let out a subtle hum every now and then, making you bite your lip in some attempt to keep whatever you were feeling at bay.

After you finished your little massage, you quickly finished up his hair, giving him a very-needed trim and styling it to its usual glory. You instinctively placed your hands on his shoulders once you finished and leaned in a bit to look at the results.

"So? What do you think? You needed a haircut, sir, you should… keep in touch.. If you need me, I'm here." A grin grew on your face and he couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of your smiling face. He turned his head to the left and the right, reaching up to touch his face delicately. He was less worried about messing it up and more worried about you scolding him for it. He let out a little huff and he opened his mouth, with no words coming out. It took him a moment." It's great, but uhh.. Could you do the – " He spun his fingers around his cheeks," you know, the.. Little loopy.. Bits..?"

God, what a cutie.

You let out a little chuckle and nodded, turning his chair to face you." My bad, how could I forget the loopy bits?" You teased, reaching out to either side of his head. Your hands lulled over his cheeks for some reason you wouldn’t explain. Finally, you untucked the bits of hair from behind his ears, pulling them forward and twirling them with your fingers. You placed your hands on your hips, still bent to be at his eye level.

"There. Ready for makeup, Lucifer?" Your words didn't come naturally, it took you a few seconds to debate whether or not to call him by his name. With his voice cracking in an attempt to respond, he just nodded, attempting to keep some dignity intact. You did your best to act professional, despite his lovely reactions. You started as you usually did, applying an easy base and highlighting his rosy cheeks. You never needed to do much to his face, and even after all this time, you still didn’t need to. Must be his angelic abilities, that his skin never really changes. You shrugged off the thought, getting ready to focus on his eyes. Instead of keeping his chin up, you took a light hold of his jaw, your fingers grazing his neck and your thumb placed dangerously close to the side of his lips. You both reacted to this new method, but you quickly went to work to prevent any more eye contact.

You took your time and it was clear neither of you cared to bring it up. He was past his call time, but when some poor stylist working for the news team came in to get him, Lucifer used his threatening status to give you both more time. After you finished covering the dark rings surrounding his eyes and prettying them up a bit, you mirrored your other hand and essentially cupped his cheeks. You did your best to make it look like it was for work purposes, but damn you were enjoying this. Such a beautiful creature in the palm of your hands, looking away because he was too embarrassed to meet your eyes." Look forward, please?" You spoke softly, lightly tapping his cheek to get him to follow your commands. He let out a huff, then finally prepared himself to look into your eyes. The noisy workers coming in and out of the room suddenly disappeared, the room going silent. He had your complete focus, and suddenly there was nothing more important than gazing into his red eyes. His hand moved to your wrist, holding one of your hands in place while he pressed his cheek against your palm. What a sight. You leaned in, not knowing what would happen, but also not really caring. Any chance to get close to –

"Alright your Highness, we're gonna need you on set in five." The harsh sounds of the room suddenly returned, a Hellhound making a more stern request to get this shoot over with. You quickly stood straight, taking up a brush and fixing up the small smudges you had created by holding him. "Rrright! Yup, pretty sure we're almost done, sooo... I'll be right there..! Thanks." He clenched his pointed teeth, as he thanked the brute, who walked off with a scoff. "Good golly – I'm their king! What gives that mutt the right to – " He stopped his rambling once he saw your sheer embarrassment. He took it as a sign that he went too far, that just maybe, he read you wrong.

He turned his head, looking back to his reflection and tracing his little curls with his fingers before letting out a satisfied hum. "Great work as always, my dear." He stood from the chair, stretching his stiff legs with a groan." I should uhm – I'm gonna get going, I have to.. Do the.. Thing – with the thing.." He walked backward towards the exit, pointing over his shoulder. "You mean go to set and get the shots? Hope everything goes okay, sir." You chuckled, going back to cleaning some things up. "Okay, well – oh! Thank you! Right, forgot that part. So, thanks..!" He just kept talking. Like he might never see you again once he left the room. "My pleasure, Lucifer." You hummed, still attending to your tasks. Oh, you should’ve seen the winded look on his face. He let out a wheezing chuckle, tripped over himself, then finally left the studio.

Once all your things were neatly tucked away, you were invited to the shoot. They had an extensive team of people behind the scenes, so you got the chance to just observe the process. They had him run through a number of poses, some regal, some more.. Provocative. Just for fun, they said. It made you cringe, it definitely wasn't his style. Finally deciding on a composition, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and he rested his thumb just below his chin, drawing your eye to his devilish smirk. How could someone who's been hurt as badly as he has, smile for the cover of a magazine?

You made some mental notes on his makeup and his hair, which they squished down with a comically oversized tophat. Trying to keep your mind purely professional became increasingly difficult when he kept looking over at you, his smile twitching every time. He must be tired. That’s clearly why he's acting this way.

"All right, we got it! Wrap it up, people!" An aggressive shout took you away from your phone screen, and you looked around at the rush of workers. You tried to catch anyone's attention to see if you could help with anything, but you never got anyone's attention. It was definitely a change of pace from your past experience, considering you were the lead on a team that really only dressed two people, even if they were royalty. By the time you got back to the studio, it was basically cleaned out, other than your little cart with all the supplies you brought from home. You assumed you were good to go straight home and find something to do other than feeling up the king of Hell; speak of the devil!

"Oh! I.. didn't know you were still here, I thought you left..?" A soft, and mildly raspy, voice came from the door, making you catch Lucifer's eyes in the reflection of the vanity you stood in front of. "No, I was enjoying the show." You leaned against the tabletop after turning to face him, a little smirk on your face. "You did good, by the way. The shots came out really well." You pulled up some of the shots that the company sent to your phone. "These are some very handsome photos.. You're welcome, by the way." You were gloating. He had walked forward to get a better look at your phone screen, squinting his eyes like he needed glasses, despite it being impossible for him to have poor vision. He scoffed at your comment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well don't let it go straight to your head, dear, you didn't do all the work. I'm just naturally gorgeous, right? You used to say that all the time." He nodded his head to either side as he spoke like he was winning some argument.

"Well, I meant it and it's still true. So, don't let that get to your head." You responded like you were trying to one-up him. He immediately turned red. He can shoot his shots, but deflates at any quick or clever rebuttals." W-Well! I'll try not to.. T-thanks for being here. Not like, here, but like – helping with the shoot, and doing meee – my hair! Love my hair, came out great." Good job, Lucifer. You startled him by running your hands through his locks, attempting to fix up the mess they made by putting a heavy hat on him." Ugh, they ruined it.. It should be an easy fix, I guess... that stupid hat." You grumbled, running your hands along the sides of his head to smooth it out. He was biting his lip when you sent him a quick look." I-I like the hat..." He said weakly. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, beginning to pull your hands away. Clawed hands took hold of your wrists, keeping them hovered on either side of his face. "You said... that you'd be there for me no matter what. Do you remember that..?" He relaxed his face, but his hands were shaking just a bit. You nodded slowly.” Well, I’m - I appreciate that.. And you.. I-I appreciate you..”

“If you still.. I don't know, it's been a few years since – but if you still wanted to.. Ugh, dammit..! I don't know how to – " He stuttered over his words, becoming visibly upset, something stopping him from speaking coherently. You couldn't assume he was talking about the little incident from years ago, but if it was still on your mind after all that time, maybe it was still on his. He stepped forward just a bit, his grasp still lightly holding your wrists, keeping him close to you. Waiting for you to respond to a question he never really asked, he gulped, then let out a breathy, fuck it. In one fell swoop, he released your hands and immediately pulled you into a tight embrace. This wasn't like before, this wasn't to console him. His hands were wrapped around your back and cradled the base of your neck, leaving no space between the two of you.

Your entire body tensed, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in was knocked out of you, and your arms were stuck with your hands pressed against his chest. He loosened his grasp as soon as he held you, but never actually let you go. His head had sunk into your shoulder, trying to hide some kind of adorable expression, you were sure. You had the opportunity to push him away, nothing was truly keeping you there. Physically, at least.

As you stood still, deciding what your next move would be, you'd feel him adjusting his head and turning it to plant his cheek on your collarbone, his breath hot against your chest. You knew he had to feel how hard and fast your heart was beating with how he was nuzzling into you. Focusing on one thing at a time, you tugged your arm out of his hold and lifted his face upwards, at least preventing him from being too close to your rapid heart rate. The next problem was your noses almost touching due to how close you were. His eyes were wide, full of some sort of desperation or fear, and a little bit of excitement. Your fingers still lightly hovered under his chin, and you could feel his pulse. Just as fast as yours, maybe even faster.

You felt him gulp, his face now heating up. Maybe the look in your eyes was too much for him to handle. You looked at the vanity that was just a few feet away. That should make him understand. Taking small steps backwards, which he didn’t understand, but also didn’t question, you kept moving until you felt the table hit your back. You leaned back slowly, forcing him to brace himself against the table to keep his balance. His eyes darted around as it clicked finally. You had put yourself in the same position that you were in years ago. His hands caged you in, and his knee sat between your legs for stability. You remembered it so clearly, you had no trouble bringing the two of you right back to where you left off. You took one of his arms and guided it to support you by the small of your back, then snaked your arms around his shoulders. Then, you closed your eyes and just waited. Just sitting there, anticipation bubbling in your stomach.

Before you knew it, he had softly pressed his lips against yours. You jumped at first, startled by something you were waiting so patiently for. You felt his lips pull away in response, but you were quick to pull his shoulders in, closing the gap again. He let out a little cry against your lips, as you pulled him even closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept one hand at your back and sent the other to your outer thigh, slightly lifting your leg to sit against his hip. With a more secure hold on you, he leaned forward further, until you felt the back of your head hit the mirror with a light thump. "Mmph! Are you okay?" He pulled away for a moment to ask, which only upset you even more. You looked at him as if the answer was obvious, and fisted the collar of his shirt, pulling your lips back together. Clearly, you were fine.

Becoming intoxicated by your lips, he practically begged for a more intimate kiss. He placed a hand on your chin, pulling your mouth ajar with his thumb and quickly entering his tongue in your mouth. The sudden motion left you muttering incoherent praises onto his lips. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze. Once you regained your focus, you were able to reassess your situation. You had slid down the entirety of the vanity, your back fully against the cold material of the counter. One of his hands were propping himself up directly above you, the other still holding your leg, and keeping you from moving away as he pulled you impossibly closer. While letting you catch your breath, he sent a few kisses down your jaw and neck, making you grip his shoulders and hold your breath. He pulled himself away after pressing another quick peck on your lips. "Hey. Breathe. I'll take care of you, don't worry - " How dare he. How could he act so flustered when you did his hair and applied his makeup for literal centuries, then tell you to calm down? You scoffed and smashed your lips back against his, mainly to shut him up, but he wasn’t complaining.

He let out a little yelp against your lips, struggling to keep up with your sudden change of pace. Running your hands through his hair, ruining all the hard work you put into it, you lightly tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. A shakey sigh met your lips, as you took control of the situation, taking the opportunity to explore his mouth with your own tongue.

After this went on for what felt like forever, which you didn’t really mind, you pulled away to breathe. Looking up to him, your eyes explored the lipstick that messily covered his lips. You tipped his head upward by his chin forcing him to look at himself in the vanity's mirror. He let out a pathetic little wheeze, looking back down at you with a suddenly confident smirk." Beautiful work as always, my dear." He spoke flirtatiously, "You missed a spot, though." Dipping his head back downwards and indulging in your warm presence for as long as he could.

You were clawing at his back, untucking his shirt as you struggled to keep a hold of him. Both your legs had spread, making your hips flush against his. He kept you close, as he nipped and kissed across your collarbone, his sharp teeth grazing your skin without hesitation.

Sucking on the softest part of your neck, you let out a breathy moan and arched your back into his chest. The sudden motion sent friction to his lower half, making him release his teeth and suddenly bolt upwards. The reaction made you nervous, "I-I don't - I haven't.. It's been… Awhile.." He stammered out, putting an emphasis on the word awhile." I know, It's okay." He winced at your nonchalant remark, remembering how often you witnessed his last relationship essentially fall apart, as you went back to kissing his neck. He gently pulled himself away. "Nono, it's been awhile- awhile… I hadn't been close with.. anyone… for a couple.. Decades..?" He spoke nervously like he was embarrassed to admit it. You sat up for a moment, making him question whether or not he should've said anything." But.. It's only been five years, right?" You weren't sure if this was the best time to be getting into this, but these are answers you’ve been wanting for years.

"I don't know what happened, sweetheart, but we lost what we had long before any of this. I'm sorry if you thought.. I can't have you take on that burden.. Okay?" He cupped your face, shifting to a more tender approach. You tried piecing things together in your mind, which was still cloudy from the past few hours. Of course, that still doesn’t make what you two did right. Of course, you blamed yourself after all this time. He pulled you out of your thoughts, by tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and keeping his tender hold on your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile and nuzzle your face into his hand.

"We can stop if you want, love." Oh how you wanted to say stop. To say that you were terrible people for even feeling this way after all this time, while he was with his wife. Who also happened to be your employer. How scandalous. "No, I want this." You said without a hint of hesitation in your voice. It shocked him a bit, but he didn’t have much time to react before you leaned forward, unbuttoning his coat and pushing it off his shoulders. You pulled him in by his collar again, continuing to remove his vest, then opening his shirt, letting it hang open loosely, his white skin just barely peeking out. He shrugged comically, before going back to working on your neck, pulling at the hem of your blouse that had already fallen to your shoulders.

He ran his hands along your curves, eliciting a shiver down your spine. You reached your hands into his open shirt, your warm hands trailing across his even warmer chest. Your physical pleasure was subdued for a moment, absolutely in awe. "You have beautiful skin, Lucifer." Your voice was breathy, he lulled his head to the side, melting at your words and intimate touch. After a moment he let out a sweet chuckle and shrugged his top completely off. "So I've been told." Implying your constant praises from before, he puffed his chest out.

Oh, he was loving this. You sat up, your legs just at the edge of the countertop as you arched your back into him, closing the gap between your hips. You started by pressing a little kiss on his cheek, his face heating up even after all he's done to you. You then, moved your way down to work your lips across his neck and collarbone. Gently tracing his spine with one hand the other traveled downward as you pulled his hips into yours. Messaging his hip and continuously running your fingers along the center of his back, you sent him into sensory overload. You weren't surprised by the sudden bulge you felt hitting your center, in fact, you reveled how that confirmed you were doing a good job. You began sucking and biting on the skin, stopping to let out breathy mewls into his ear. The massaging of his hip turned into you pulling him in, then pushing him away slightly, only to viciously repeat the motion, forcing him to start grinding against you. Your hand on his back continued to trail up and down his spine, only you started to drag your nails across his skin as well, digging in a bit harder whenever you heard his voice hitch. You let your fingers slip into his pants every now and then, the cool sensation of your hands making him let out a little whimper.

"Your skin really is perfect, Lucifer. You are entirely beautiful. You're absolutely stunning, my king." You hummed into his ear, your skilled hands continuing to drive him crazy. He could barely keep up, his head falling back whenever you'd reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "K-Kiss me.." You heard him almost whisper, making you pull back for a moment to assess his stature. He had his hands on your hips, to keep you close, but also to keep him standing on his swaying feet. "I-I need you to.. kiss me.. Please.." He spoke in choppy sentences, he was too lost in his own pleasure to keep his head up, so you kept it forward by cradling the back of his head. When his head would start to droop too far forward, you gave his hair a light tug to remind him where he was. Did he need permission? You enjoyed the 180 he had made from the flirtatious tease just moments ago, humming in thought and tapping your chin like you were still deciding. Like you were considering not kissing him as passionately as he could handle.

He was lightly grinding his hard-on into you but still seemed patient enough to wait for your answer. "Well.. Since you said please." You finally said after far too long. He let out a sigh of relief as you inched towards him. You left your lips just over his, only letting him feel your heated breath against his lips. He shifted his stance but never moved towards you. You brushed your lips against his, not locking them together, just barely grazing them. He let out an impatient groan, his eyes clenched shut as you teased him so cruelly. Who knew this is what would bring tears to his eyes? You ran your hands up his chest, then dug your nails into him as you went back down. You finally met his lips, deciding he had enough after you wiped away a tear from his watering eyes. You don't know how he still managed to keep the kiss so tender after acting so desperate beforehand. You continuously wiped the tears off his face, keeping your hands on his face and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. As you pulled away, he followed your lips, disappointed in the sudden disconnect. He took the silence and the look on your face as a sign, that he needs to tell you what he wants.

He dropped to his knees, the warmth you had sitting between your legs was hit with the cool air of the room as he did. He kept his hands off of you and himself but fiddled with his thumbs to keep them busy in some way. He took in a deep breath, before speaking quickly," Can I taste you?" His voice was embarrassingly loud like he was just waiting and waiting to finally say it. It sort of shocked you, you assumed he’d be nervous after admitting he hadn't done this in a while. You pulled your legs together, finally feeling how wet you were becoming, but needing to commit to the bit. You crossed your ankles to furth prevent access. "I suppose so.. But what do you saay?" you reached down and tapped the tip of his nose, as you dragged out your words like you were speaking to a child. "Please..! I need to touch you, please.." He quickly replied, with no hesitation at all. "Good boy." That was it for you.

You realized you sealed your fate, as you felt him take a hold on your knees and pull them back apart gently. He moved forward until he could rest his head on your plush thigh, which he did for a while. He lifted your skirt up to your waist, then took a moment to appreciate the view. You were finally becoming a bit embarrassed, attempting to close your legs instinctively, but he pushed your legs farther apart, keeping a tight hold onto your thighs. When he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and innocent, as if he wasn’t keeping your legs apart and wiggling his hips to give some much-needed friction to his own growing problems.

He blinked, then looked back down, trailing his clawed finger across your wet underwear. You covered the sounds you were making with the back of your hand, still struggling to keep your legs open for him. He bent his finger and pressed it deeply into your still-clothed entrance. The sensation of the fabric digging into you made you groan, but that didn’t affect him at all. He licked his lips and began gathering spit in his mouth and he pushed your legs back in place, keeping them apart this time. Running his forked tongue across your panties, you squirmed under his touch. As he lapped at the fabric, the heat from his breath and the wetness he was coating you with caused you to fall back onto your forearms. "L-Lucifer - " You said weakly, quickly drawing his attention. "This is cruel." You pouted, continuing to let out a little whimper as he kept running two of his fingers across your underwear.

He cocked his head to the side as if he didn’t understand the damage he was doing. He was playing dumb." Oh? I'm sorry, love, how should I touch you then?" He was way too calm for your liking. He let one of his fingers just graze the hem, only touching a bit of your skin. You let out an annoyed groan, and move your underwear to the side, guiding the tip of his finger to your entrance. With your hand holding his wrist, you pushed his fingers inside of you, a strange sensation to say the least. It was embarrassing. He noticed your discomfort and finally dropped the act, sending you a sweet smile and kissing your thigh before starting to pump his fingers inside of you.

You let out a sultry moan, a mixture of relief and pure pleasure finally hitting you as you felt him add another finger without any real warning. You lulled your head back, not able to see his absolute focus on matching the rhythm of his fingers to the circling of your clit. Before you could fully comprehend, he pulled his hands away and back onto your thighs, delving into your center with a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Letting out a gasp, he delved into your folds, his tongue easily slipping from your entrance and back up to your clit. He lifted a hand to continue to slowly rub his thumb in small circles, so he could focus his tongue on thrusting in and out of your entreance with ease.

He showed no sign of faltering as you bucked into his face, desperate for more of him. Your hands moved to his hair, taking a tight hold as he hit right where he was supposed to. He scrunched his face, letting out a low growl as you yanked at his scalp, the vibrations startling you in a wonderful way. He only sped up when you started to babble about being close, letting your thighs tighten around his face as you finish into his lips. He continues his rapid pace, the adrenaline from being squeezed by your shaky legs taking over. You finally pulled his head away from you after the pleasure of overstimulation started to ache in your core. You sunk backward, your body twitching on occasion.

He planted a kiss on your thigh before rising back to his feet. He leaned into you, the fabric over his groin coated in your juices the longer he pressed in. He pecked your temple, looking at you, completely unphased." Too much? How did I do..?" He seemed genuinely interested in whether or not he did a good job." Y-you did.. Great.. It was g-good.. Felt good.." You gave a pathetic thumbs up as you caught your breath." W-what happened to the whole it's been a while thing? Fuck, Lucifer." You sat up finally seeing that he split the fabric of your underwear at some point to gain better access." Guess I've still got it." He said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows at you. You couldn’t take him seriously. Your wetness and lipstick stained his mouth, the eyeliner you had applied had ran down his cheeks and rubbed under his eyes. Not to mention, he was covered in your marks. It's fine you can cover those, you thought. Even with his sudden burst of dominance, you took pride in the fact that this was all because of you. He was all yours.

☆☆☆

If you're curious, that one is pushing 10k words ;)

(Tagging some people who might appreciate it) @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @bat-boness @christineblood

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer x you smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin fanfic #hazbin fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x you

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

lowkey..just lowkey.. thinkin about waking up one day and seeing dragon! bakugou in your house…accompanied by a giant hole in your wall.

you’re so confused you can barely process it. there’s a handsome man passed out on your floor and from what you can see (which is basically everything since his shirt is torn to shreds) he looks injured. you also live on the third floor so you have no idea how he landed here, but you think the huge sprawled out wings on his back, his tail and those huge reddish horns that scream “ i’m a mythical being !!” might be the reason.

but there is one thing you’re able to think about and that’s how much money will it cost to fix your damn wall??

you call off work. you call it a family emergency because you don’t think “a shirtless man i think might be a demon just blasted through my wall and he looks injured” is gonna fly over well with your boss.

he seems to be able to heal himself because his wounds look better than when you first laid eyes on him and you can see that his skin looks like it’s restitching itself almost, you decide to help him out a bit and at least dress his wounds up the best you can with the little you know about doctor..stuff.

when he comes to though, he acts like you’re the one who knocked him out. he’s snarling and scowling at you, sharp teeth on display while he growls at you from the comfort of your fucking couch. he spits out all types of curses at you, you’re shocked because they come out so naturally. you’d honestly expected him to speak like some type of caveman and for a second you think this is just a very rude man in very convincing cosplay.

he keeps insulting you and he’s a little too good at it, so much so that it actually hurts your feelings a little. he keeps yapping about how if you didn’t let him out this instant he’ll have you grilled and barbecued or how he’d make quick work of you and have you sold to some merchants for a good amount of gold, since you “look like you’re not worth that much.” you’re a little pissed now. you scowl at him and you feel silly for calling off work and not pushing this huge asshole out of your flat and leaving whatever knocked him out to deal with him.

“you’re the one who blasted a hole in my wall, you jerk ! i say i’m the one who should have you sold if you can’t reimburse me for this, asshole ! and if you wanna walk out without a shirt on and get arrested like a creep, the door’s right there.” you don’t care to see him, because you would’ve seen how his eyes widened to the size of saucers at your retorts. you’ve never been more irritated in your entire life when you stalk to your room to get some much needed rest and to fight off the headache you can already feel slamming against your skull. “even demon men are insufferable.” you mutter bitterly before slamming the door.

you somehow managed to fall back asleep because when you open your eyes again it’s about 10 am. you’re frantic for a moment because you think this was somehow just a very vivid dream and you’re so late for work now. you slam your door open wide eyed and your wall is intact.

shit, your boss was gonna let you have it—

you catch something from the corner of your eye. the insufferable demon man is staring..glaring(?) at you but it’s not as intense as earlier,though. and he’s very much still seated on your couch.

“m-my wall..” you trail off. he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at you “i fixed it” he gruffs out.

you like how his voice sounds when he isn’t screaming and threatening you, you immediately scold yourself for thinking like that. he stares and keeps staring at you and you can’t decipher what he’s thinking

“oh..” you gasp “thank you.” he clicks his tongue again and looks away from you. just as much of an ass, but you guessed he felt a little bad about your wall, enough to fix it..somehow. you won’t ask for details.

you can’t will yourself to move past your doorframe so you decide to lean on it a little bit, rubbing your fuzzy socked foot against your calf, you catch him staring at the sudden movement before he looks back up at you. “so are you…a demon or something?” he scoffs for what feels like the umpteenth time today “don’t insult me, human.” he snarls then his face relaxes just slightly “m’ a dragon.” he grumbles.

“oh, wow” the little amount of fantasy manga you’ve read could never have prepared you for this.

you thank him for fixing your wall and he glares at you like he’s mad about it. but then he says he owes it to you for healing him. pointing towards his bandage covered chest. you feel your cheeks burn a little and you’re waving him off, telling him it’s no big deal and somehow his brows furrow even harder. “..so ? what do you want from me?” he growls when you tilt your head at him in confusion “don’t play dumb with me, filthy human ! what do you want in exchange for saving me ?”

“ohh…” you moan. then you shrug “i mean, you already fixed my wall, so i don’t really need anything from you, unless you can make my boss give me a promotion.” you giggle at your own joke and you wave him off again when he looks at you questioningly “nevermind.” you giggle.

he ignores you “you don’t want anything..nothing ?” he speaks apprehensively like he expects you to trick him, you shake your head. he looks bothered by it. he lowers his head and his eyebrows furrow in frustration then he growls.

you think maybe, maybe, he’s the type to feel bad whenever they feel like they can’t repay some type of service. you hadn’t noticed he was apparently on death’s door when you bandaged him up before and it makes you sweat drop a little bit, you try your best to shake it off. he stands up to leave, but he glances at you and suddenly his feet have stopped moving like he’s stuck there and he stares. he doesn’t even look mad like you’ve gotten used to him being for the short amount of time you’ve known him, he just looks confused. he stares at you and you stare at him and for a reason that you cannot understand you don’t want him to leave.

“ um !” you shrink into yourself, embarrassed from his gaze and the fact you were suddenly so loud. “well..you can’t exactly go out like this, it’ll be bad for you i think..it might attract attention to see a wounded shirtless guy walking around, people might take you for..i dunno—” you stumble “a crazy, dangerous person ! yeah, and if that happens they might take you away..so..that’d be bad for you, right ?” you hope he doesn’t realize how much you’re bullshitting around for an excuse but he almost seems to humor you when he crosses his arms across his toned chest.

“what do you suggest i do then, human ?” he growls lowly. he stalks towards you slowly, never breaking eye contact. you will yourself to stay with your feet planted firmly to the ground and head held up somewhat high as you stare up at him, damn he’s tall.

“ you stay here until you’re fully healed, if you wanna make it up to me. it would honestly save me so much trouble” it’s the truth. you can’t help but feel bad when the thought of him getting captured or experimented on crosses your mind, even if he is an asshole, but you don’t say that. you hold out your hand for him to shake “deal ?”

he squints at you and stares and you stare back. usually he would’ve stayed true to his threat and burned you alive by now, the trivial lives of humans are none of his concern. and yet for some reason he himself doesn’t know the answer to he stayed, even fixed up your damn wall you were whining about and even considered apologizing to you..which he absolutely never does !

there’s something different about you and he wants to find out what that something is. so, not so begrudgingly he slowly grasps your hand and squeezes lightly. he ignores the tiny voice in his head that tells him how soft and perfect your hand feels in his.

“deal.”

#lowkey tho just lowkey #i might just make this a series #wippee first maybe series yall #not proofread #ill fix later #i dreamed about this yesterday and i had to write about it #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #I always end up writing way more than i mean to w him lmfaoo

[merrilinie]

During a hunt, Merlin wonders off after claiming he could hear meowing. None of the Knights could hear the sound but Merlin was adamant and insisted he go find the poor thing. They let him after he promised not to wonder too far and almost an hour later he returned with his neck heir bundled in his arms.

From the piece of fabric came a soft, rumbling purr.

They all watched him as he cleaned the little thing up with his water. The animal itself barely even fit in his whole hand, small and wet and covered in dirt and tiny little bugs that could be seen jumping up every now and again.

Arthur told him to leave it so he wouldn’t get fleas but Merlin wasn’t listening, too busy carefully drying the kitten up and whisper sweet words of comfort despite the obvious language barrier.

Percy gave him some more water so the little thing could eat and Merlin beamed, which was the only reason Arthur gave up on trying to get him to abandon the thing for everyone’s well being.

He bought him back to Camelot with them, never letting go of it throughout the entire ride.

Any time he wasn’t serving Arthur or helping Gaius, he was with the little kitten. He helped it rid its fleas and slowly fed it until he was much more kitten shaped then it had been. He admittedly used a little magic on the fleas, as well as the blisters and cuts on the little things feet.

After a week he named her Constance, Connie for short. After a proper bath the kitten was revealed to have a few white spots on its black fur, around its paws and chest.

Eventually, when she was bigger and much more a healthy young cat, she started to follow him around the castle as he tended to his tasks. Connie could be seen sitting on his shoulders and back as he hunched over to clean Arthur’s boots and armour, or in his lap as he restitched a torn short, or most commonly, trialing along after her owner with a swishing tail.

She was bigger than most cats with a rich looking face and an endless amount of fluff, which was the only give away that Arthur actually liked her when he was caught with fluff on his white tunics.

#bbc merlin #merlin emrys #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin x arthur #merthur #knights of camelot

[familyvideostevie]

How about Eddie’s crush returning his denim jacket after it got lost in the shuffle of the Upside Down/him nearly dying and she like fixed it for him?

had to turn this into a wee fic! sweet eddie deserves his vest back as he heals. hope you like! | 0.9k, fluff, fem!reader

It's been about two weeks since Eddie was dragged out of the Upside Down, his lifeblood leaking out of the countless wounds he'd gotten from being a demobat chew toy. The nurses told you that he'd be okay to go home soon, but that doesn't stop you from coming as many times are you can. And when the front desk calls you "the Munson kid's girlfriend" you don't bother to correct them, even if it's not that official between you two.

It's official enough that though you weren't in the Upside Down, Dustin made sure that you were called as soon as Eddie was in the ambulance. It's official enough that Wayne draped his arm over your shoulders as you waited for him to come out of surgery. It's official enough that Steve made sure to get the denim vest into your hands.

The same vest that you've stuffed into your bag for today's visit. As soon as you enter his room, Eddie lights up. You were here just yesterday, but you can tell he's feeling better. Every day you see him alive and smiling loosens the knot in your stomach.

"Wow, are you like, obsessed with me or something? You've been here three days in a row!" He raises his eyebrows like he's actually concerned, but the grin on his face betrays him. As if he'd be anything other than thrilled to see you.

"I have something for you," you say by way of greeting. You're too excited to bother with small talk, not that any talk with Eddie is ever small. It's always the biggest, best thing about your day. You sit in the chair next to his bed and he holds out a hand, wanting to twine his fingers with yours like he does every visit. But your eyes aren't on him, instead on your own hands as you dig through your tote for your prize. He makes a needy sound and you look up at him sharply, worried he's in pain.

Instead you find his big brown eyes looking at you and your throat is thick with fondness as he makes a grabby motion with his hand.

"One second, Eddie!" you laugh.

"Sweetheart, c'mon, have pity on me," he moans. "They were out of jello today so I've had no sweetness until you got here." Your cheeks flush a little at his flirting but you don't give in just yet.

"Hold on, here it is," you say triumphantly, pulling out his vest gently. "Steve gave this to me last week and I've only just finished getting it right." You lay it out over his blanketed legs and his eyes go wide, neediness for you temporarily forgotten.

Even like this, a little too pale and hair in need of a wash, the hospital lights doing him no favors, Eddie is the prettiest thing you've ever seen. You drink your fill of him as he stares slack-jawed at your gift and you think, wow, I'll never get tired of him like this. Alive.

"How--" He doesn't even finish his question, instead running his hands over the denim, fingers pausing to ghost over each pin and patch like he can barely believe they're real."I really thought this got eaten by some fucking monster or something." He laughs, breathless.

"I cleaned it," you say shyly. "Got all the blood out. It's a miracle it didn't lose any pins, but the back was fraying a little so I restitched it--"

Eddie grabs your hands in both of his and looks right at you as he brings them to his mouth to kiss the backs once, twice, three times. Part of you wants to say that it's just a vest, but you both know that's not true. It's hours of your own work over something that he loves, something that he made himself. It's proof that you love him.

"It's perfect, baby," he says. "I need to put it on now."

"Eddie," you say, a little alarmed. "Eddie, no, you're healing still. You can wear it when you're discharged!" But he's already scooting forward on this bed, adjusting his wires and tubes.

"No, no, c'mere and help me. It'll be fine!" You stand up, rolling your eyes and trying not to freak out about him hurting himself or pulling some stitches. He grabs one of your forearms as he leans forward and you help him sit up more. He shivers at your palm on his back, and you can't wait for him to be out of here so he can be touched by someone who loves him as often as he wants.

"Okay, slowly," you say. "One arm at a time, I'll pull it around." You get him into the vest slowly and when you're done he sits back and he's grinning. He looks so silly with it over his hospital gown, his IV all tangled in it. But he's the brightest thing in the room, always.

"I look metal, right?" he asks you, breathing a little labored from all the movement. You grab one of his hands and kiss it fiercely. The thoughts of what could have happened are always at the edge of your mind. Images of a world without him, this sweet, beautiful, kind boy in front of you. It's not something you can shake, but every time he smiles at you makes that dark vision less present.

"So metal, Eds," you tell him.

"Seriously, thank you." He leans his head back and closes his eyes. "I feel like myself again." He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand a little. "Fuck yeah."

"Fuck yeah," you echo. "No need to thank me. Just wanted to make you smile." You'd do anything for him and while that might've scared you before, now it's a promise you intend to keep.

"You always do," he says, eyes back on you, bright and happy. "Always do."

eddie-specific tags for this one because it's cute: @ruinedbythehobbit @superflannel

want to be added to my tag list for full-length (non-ask) fics? send me a message and specify for steve, eddie, or both!

reblog, send feedback, requests open, masterlist here!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #anon asks #emma's asks

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 3 / Luck

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,910

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

The vampire couldn’t remember anything about you, at first. It was as if the parasite had unlocked the recollection, delving into some subconscious vault of memories Astarion could not access himself. He hadn’t remembered you, prior to the parasite’s assistance, but had held onto pieces of information he'd learned from the conversation. The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions – you needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead.  As his two campmates chat, Astarion has more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff / GUYS THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE AND S-CIDE IDEATION DO NOT READ IF IT'S TRIGGERING TO YOU OR YOU ARE NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE

Notes: This chapter was hard for me to write; I teared up and had to take a break for a few days because I am quite sensitive. If you are sensitive like me, please proceed with caution.

“You are late, Astarion.”

“Master, I’m sorry, I—“

“I do not have time, nor patience for your excuses, boy!” Cazador hisses, snatching the younger vampire up by his flounced collar.

Astarion hears the fabric of his shirt tear as his master shakes him repeatedly. Cazador is shouting; from this proximity, Astarion can smell the rotten blood on his breath. The Vampire Lord is berating him ferociously, causing sprays of putrid spittle to hit the spawn’s face with every word.

But Astarion isn’t there anymore. He’s retreated into the confines of his own mind. He’s replaying the conversation he’d had with you, before the bell tower chimed midnight and he’d fled from the Drunken Dragon.

“DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?!” Cazador is roaring now, lifting Astarion up to the tips of his toes with unhinged fury. The gap in the spawn’s shirt rips open further. 

He’s a ragdoll in his master’s grip, flopping about almost lifelessly with deadened eyes and a blank visage. The pale elf learned long ago that expending his energy fighting, begging, or crying always lead to the same result. It was useless.

So why bother with it at all? It was easier to retreat within himself, hide, and hope he wouldn’t remember most of his encounters with Cazador, in the end.

The lack of response from Astarion enrages Cazador further, and in one swift motion he hurls the silver-haired elf onto the floor. The younger vampire lands with a resounding crack of bone – something inside the elf, apart from his spirit, has broken. Astarion would wince or cry, if he’d noticed it at all.

The vial and business card combination from earlier this evening tumbled out of the pale elf’s pocket during the commotion. Cazador snatches the small token up immediately; nothing that came home with the spawn had ever been allowed to stay with them.

Everything they found while outside of the palace became his; Cazador claimed this was his right as their master. The spawn did not even have rights to the clothes on their back. Astarion’s shirt had been torn by his master, restitched by his own hands, and then torn yet again more times than he could be bothered to count.

The Vampire Lord doesn’t bother to read the card; he simply crushes the vial in his hand and throws the resulting shards of glass at Astarion. The card is thrown into the flames of the fireplace without a thought.

Cazador is bellowing insults again, but the silver-haired elf barely acknowledges the venom spewing from the Vampire Lord’s mouth. He’s focusing on the perfumed residue that’s been scattered across his face along with tiny shards of glass, which have now embedded themselves in his cheeks and forehead.

The fragrance is positively ambrosial, and Astarion just now realizes that you had been wearing this very scent in the tavern. It was what had caught his attention in the first place. The smell proved to be an almost irresistible combination; he’d never smelt anything else quite like it.

The spawn thinks his face is bleeding, and glass might have gotten in his eye. Every time he blinks, there is a sharp, grating feeling, and so eventually he stops blinking altogether. He doesn’t need to, anyway. Instead, his visage turns into a thousand-yard stare.

Bergamot, rosemary… and what else? Astarion can’t place it.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Astarion jerks awake, shocked by the sharp, resounding clang of metal upon metal. He’s shirtless, it’s freezing. The pale elf soon realizes he’s in the kennels, lying on the cold, damp cobblestone. The rough, slimy rock is poking into his torn back at all angles. Rats chitter about in the walls, causing his skin to crawl in revulsion. 

He hates those disgusting vermin.

It was always cold and wet down here in the kennels. The stone would often sweat from humidity. As it did, it released the rotten scent caused by hundreds of years of torture performed on all Cazador’s spawn.

Piss, shit, bile, and blood.

A disgusting bouquet of misery. 

The kennels always reeked of vile filth, but the silver-haired elf swore he’d caught a whiff of something simultaneously citrusy and earthy, accompanied by the tinkling sound of a woman’s laughter just before he woke.

Bergamot and rosemary? 

But there’s no one else here. Just Astarion and the skeletal form of Godey, currently preoccupied with clanking metal and grumbling to himself.

By the time the vampire spawn fully returns his consciousness to his mind and body, he’s too late to avoid the rough metal chain swinging to smack his head. Astarion grunts at the impact and instinctively clutches his face with his now-freed hand. So that was the metal clanging… Godey was releasing him from his chains today.

His throat is absolutely raw. His mouth is dry. Every swallow sends sharp, stabbing pains through his nerves. 

Had he been screaming?

He can tell he is starving, but that isn’t exactly new… that particular ache was always present.

Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Astarion couldn’t be sure. There are hundreds of slashes of varying sizes and depths across his body; he reeks of blood, bile, and dried sweat. What he can see of his arms, in the parts not entirely caked in grime and congealed blood, looks to be a strange blend of purple and green. 

“Are you dumb and deaf, spawn?! Out with you, boy!” Godey shrieks, ripping open the cell door and flailing the chain threateningly, “Lord Cazador says you are to get ready for the Greengrass Gala! All spawn are to attend!”

Greengrass? Hadn’t it been a few weeks past Midwinter when he was thrown down here?

He’d been left there and sliced to ribbons by Godey for months.

Why had he been locked in the kennels in the first place? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the smell of bergamot and rosemary and blurred bits of conversation in a tavern. He could almost recall that scent combination now. 

Had he been trancing or sleeping? Was that a memory or a dream?

Godey is shouting, rushing Astarion out of the kennel with another haphazardly placed whip of metal, singeing the spawn’s already shredded back. He’s sent to see Dalyria for mending; she begs him to just behave himself next time.

But what had he done, besides nothing at all?

Astarion enters the dormitory to prepare for the Gala. By the looks of his forearms, Dalyria has already done all the hard work. His bruises and cuts are almost gone, and he is certain the rest will disappear prior to the party.

He thinks it’s strange how he can be torn to shreds and restored a thousand times over; an unwilling phoenix risen from the ashes. How much easier it would be to simply crumble and fall with one step into the sun or one vial of positoxin. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 

If only he could be that lucky.

But luck hadn’t been in his favor for over two hundred years, and he was certain it would never be on his side again. He’d prayed to Tymora, the goddess of luck, and every other god and goddess he could remember while locked in that tomb all those years ago. He’d promised to pledge his undead life to their service, if only one of the beings would answer him. Tymora had ignored him then, like all the others.

They were surely ignoring him now.

Astarion doesn’t know why, but he bathes himself in a combination of bergamot and rosemary oils while he prepares for the Greengrass Gala. He doesn’t know why, but something about the smell tricks him into feeling comfort… if only for a moment.

-----

After 200 years of misery, the tides of luck may have finally turned for the vampire.

Astarion is basking in the warmth of a campfire, out in the wilds, breathing in the freshness of the countryside.

It’s the first night in camp. Every sensation out here is new. The breeze dances across his skin, causing the curls around his ears to tickle the sensitive flesh around his pinna. He shudders at the sensation and shifts closer to the fire. Warmth is almost entirely foreign to him; all he truly knows is cold kennels and the iciness of his own skin.

He doesn’t remember if he’s been outside of Baldur’s Gate before; he can’t recall a single moment prior to Cazador. Astarion's undead existence had been filled with the scents of decay and despair, found all over the city and especially inside the palace.

Until now.

The vampire couldn’t remember anything about you, at first. It was as if the parasite had unlocked the recollection, delving into some subconscious vault of memories Astarion could not access himself. He hadn’t remembered you, prior to the parasite’s assistance, but had held onto pieces of information he'd learned from the conversation.

The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions. You needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead. The wizard was wondering where something like that would be found out here in the wilds.

As his two campmates chat, Astarion sees more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Until today, the pale elf believed the concept of positoxins was something he'd always known somehow. In the same way he knew his own name or understood Elvish. But he'd learned that from you. You were an apothecary. You'd given him a business card. You'd asked him to write, and the business card had a vial attached to it, which contained a sample of…

Shit.

Bergamot and rosemary.

Astarion stiffens, and his head jerks to take in your profile. Inky black hair falling just past narrow shoulders in soft waves; warm, olive skin, and purple irises. He crinkles his brow, thinking the eye color is a bit unusual for a human and trying to recall what you looked like in his memory.

Surely, he would have remembered an attractive human woman with purple eyes, wouldn't he? Had you changed, somehow? Is that why he didn't remember you at all?

Though, he did see a lot of faces. And intentionally chose to forget almost all of them. He didn't want to remember the faces of his victims, didn’t want to know their names, didn’t want to remember the way they screamed in agony after he lured them to their deaths.

You don't notice him staring; in truth, you had practically been ignoring him all this time and only focusing your attention on Gale. 

The fragrance you'd given him had wormed its way so deeply into his subconscious that he’d been borderline obsessed with it. He’d tried his best to recreate the scent with what was offered at the palace, but of course it paled in comparison to the one held within his mind.

You had somehow escaped being his victim. Luck may never have been on his side, but it apparently had been on yours.

Why, then, had he forgotten everything else about that interaction? Forgotten you? 

The pale elf doesn’t understand that his own mind had chosen to hide the memory of that night in the tavern. It was a protective measure, constructed by his own shattered psyche. The memory had to be concealed because it held the subtle sensation of hope. Hope was a dangerous thing for him to have. Misery was familiar. 

Hope would convince him to take risks that he couldn’t afford.

#astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #astarion fanfic #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion fanfiction

[robthegoodfellow]

A Little Death Do Us Part

VANISHED from fandom to work on this thing. as usual it ballooned 🙃 warnings: necromancy, character death (hence the necromancy), dubcon (on account of the necromancy)

My entry for @bigbangharringrove with art I adore by LucaDoodleDoo who also served as cheerleader when I fell behind and suffered from near fatal narrative maximalism. Here's the first chapter, or read on AO3 💛 (3 chapters up, rest day by day)

Billy had been dead for four days when Steve finally made a breakthrough, muffled cracks as bones restitched and the crushed chest cavity filled, the rasp of rusted lungs expanding with breath. He waited, held his own breath like that would encourage another from the sorry test subject lying inert on the table.

The chest deflated, but only a little—his heart leapt as it rose again, an easier inhale, and Steve would have sobbed, except he had no air, could only manage an anguished choke. It wasn’t anguished, though, just pure exhausted relief, hope, after three nights without sleep, using every trick in the book to keep going, keep trying, not give up.

An ear twitched, then—the tail, the tip curling absent-mindedly.

Within minutes, Mews sat on his haunches, staring at Steve fixedly, even more fixedly than normal, before he’d been hit by that truck, but other than that, he seemed—fine? Fine! Even the sickly-sweet eau de rot was dissipating, ginger fur shedding the greasy dullness of decay.

So it took every ounce of self-control not to go haring off to the basement crypt and work his magic there, on the true intended recipient of his tireless trial and error.

Gods in hell, so many errors. And such a trial. One attempt had backfired so spectacularly that Mews had almost decomposed too far for restoration, crumbling before his eyes as Steve scrambled for the counter spell. Another had awoken the cat but hadn’t healed him, and also imbued him with a ravenous hunger for human flesh. The scratches that crosshatched Steve’s every limb had only just begun to scab under the bandages. He’d had to go for the bat that time, beating at the mangy monster like he was trying to win whack-a-mole at the fair, then gulped down every leftover antidote to zombie infection in the medicine cabinet he could find.

He'd been steadily working his way through the moldy copy of Untethered Netherworld: New Necromancies—several editions out of date, banned in every state but New Jersey—and he was running out of both spells and time. Reanimation for more nefarious purposes—raising undead armies and whatnot—had more wiggle room, but true revivification had to be performed within a week of the victim’s death, and the sooner the better.

He didn’t want a shell of Billy, something better off dead. He wanted Billy. Needed him back.

For that, he had to be patient, thorough; do this right. Follow the checklist. Consulting the items hastily scribbled on the back of a takeout menu, he frowned.

Responds when called.

Well, fuck. Did cats ever respond when called? Mews certainly hadn’t—and Steve still wasn’t sure whether that was due to aloof mulishness or because he maintained some preferred moniker that they weren’t privy to.

Nothing for it but to try, though.

“Mews?”

The cat blinked, swished his tail.

Good enough, Steve figured, checking it off. 

2. Reacts expectedly to stimuli.

Didn’t exactly have a toy mouse handy, but after rooting around in the junk drawer, he dug up one of those keychain laser pointers. Aimed it at the floor in front of the table, and… skittered it around.

Mews launched from his perch, paws extended—pounced on the zigzagging red and kept pouncing.

Another check. 

3. Craves appropriate sustenance.

What did cats even eat, aside from… cat food, which he’d neglected to restock. Tuna? Saucer of milk? Cartoons all seemed to think so.

“Stay here,” he said, though Mews had never been the kind of cat that talked. Locking the workroom behind him, he set off for the kitchen. Pantry had to have at least one can of Chicken of the Sea. 

.💀.

The thing was—Steve should’ve known Billy was possessed. Should’ve been able to tell right away. He’d slept next to that… thing at least two nights and hadn’t noticed. How hadn’t he noticed?

He’d kissed him and really been kissing it—wrote off the delayed response, a pause before the returning press, as simple distraction. Held him but really held it, and attributed the strange stiffness to stress, stroked the broad back until he slept—or seemed to.

Because while Steve slept, Billy had been a marionette wreaking havoc, his hijacker attacking at random, opportunistic, installing its brethren on behalf of its master.

On the third morning, the day before he died, when Steve had been watching coffee drip into the pot, the shatter of ceramic spun him round, disoriented. And Billy, eyes streaming, so blue, burning blue—he’d shoved his waiting mug off the center island, was gripping the counter, teeth gritted with effort.

“Go,” he’d grunted between clenched jaws. “Go.” His hand gripped the other mug—Steve’s—and his voice sharpened, urgent. “Run.”

Steve barely dodged it, the mug cracking into the cabinet by his head with far more force than humanly possible, and his childhood training had kicked in. For once, it paid to have been born to parents whose vigilance bordered on paranoid, always on guard against rival families, enemy estates.

He grabbed a kitchen knife, threw every chair in its way, and bolted for the door, slashing behind him as he fumbled with the locks. And ran. Because he trusted Billy with his life, implicitly, knew when a command was the kind performed without question—the tone, the bluntness, the context. It was how they’d survived as an unaffiliated pair, all these years.

But that also meant precious few allies to turn to in times of need. Billy’s sister wasn’t his first choice, but she lived closest, and fleeing on foot put proximity at a premium. To her credit, she’d tried—Steve didn’t fault her for her role in the outcome—Max had just placed her trust in the wrong people. In people that prioritized killing the thing in Billy, rather than saving Billy himself.

Of course, it didn’t help that Billy had been of the same mind.

Now that he’d found a means to bring him back, Steve could admit another reason he hadn’t closed his eyes longer than a blink since the moment Billy went slack: to avoid the endless replay projected behind his lids—of Billy standing between the girl and the monster, a conglomerate creature of melded prey, raw matter drained of humanity, remade into an ever-growing puppet of destruction.

He'd wrested control once more, like he had in the kitchen, long enough to speak the words to unmake the abomination—words he alone could know, unbeknownst to the puppeteer, as the son of a witch infamous for having contracted with a god of death so powerful none could speak its name and live. None could hear its name and live. And none knew it, save two, for a while. And then one. 

And then none.

Billy spoke it. Steve saw his lips shape unfamiliar words. For the sake of the girl. 

.💀.

A checkmark next to every item on the list—that’s what broke him, finally. Not the most dignified position, kneeling over a litterbox, scooping sandy nuggets into a trash bin while fighting tears of joy, suppressing hysterical, ecstatic laughter, but—Mews was a cat, just a normal cat again, to all appearances, which meant—

He could have Billy back. Had proven wrong every tutor who’d dismissed Steve’s lackluster abilities as beyond the help of instruction. Sufficiently motivated, he’d managed every spell he tried—so it wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully know what each spell would do. This was on his teachers for slouching on the job, handwaving him through his studies to collect a paycheck.

Closing the lid of the bin, Steve stood to wash his hands and swayed, so light-headed he would have toppled were it not for a steadying arm flung to the wall. He breathed slow, eyes closed—opened, and the room had stilled its spinning.

Even so—he needed sleep. If he attempted the most important magics of his life and fucked it up from fatigue, he’d endure the rest of his days tormented by curdling regret.

“Bed, Mews,” he called, out of habit.

They’d held out a week, after Dustin had entrusted them with Mews’ care while he was apprenticing with the bigwigs at Know Where Corporation for the summer. Mewsy prefers sleeping with a buddy, Dustin instructed, among a litany of other highly specific edicts. Well, I prefer fucking my husband without witnesses, Steve had replied, just to see him pull a face, and Billy had chirped, faux-innocent, Unless the price is right. Or unless plied with endless mournful meows and wide, shining, plaintive eyes, apparently, because in no time they had a mound of fur curled at their feet from dusk till dawn.

Despite his exhaustion, despite the comforting warmth of Mews that bled through the covers, despite the meditation exercise to clear his mind, Steve couldn’t drift off for hours, couldn’t stop the steady leak of tears that oozed from the corner of closed lids to his unwashed hair.

Because Billy’s side of the bed was an echoing void at his side, an emptiness cold and loud as an arctic gale. Now and then he nudged Mews with a foot just to hear him snuffle, like an anxious mother checking her silent newborn still breathed. 

Think of a wonderful thought, he heard—Billy’s voice, hushed and fond. And like he always did, Steve huffed, “Okay, Peter,” and finally sank into memories that didn’t stab at him the way they had for days.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself, and relaxed. By this time tomorrow, Billy would be whole and hale and back in his arms. He’d kiss him and hold him. Tell him he loved him.

Tomorrow.

Chapter 2

#harringrove bigbang #harringrove #this first chapter features #necromancy #magical abuse of a cat #angst #referenced character death #mild body horror #WAY MORE tags for other chapters on ao3

[originalcollectionartistry]

A Workout to Repeat

Hello friends!

This request was originally sent to @mandos-mind-trick (which you should go check out their fics! They're one of my favourite writer on here!!) but as their requests are closed atm, I thought I would take a crack at the prompt!

Basically, you're in love with our resident muscle man Wrecker but don't want to risk your friendship with him. You're the Batch's medic so after patching Wrecker up, you need to let off some steam. So you head to the gym on Kamino after your latest mission... then smut ensues.

CW : PiV sex, oral (f! receiving), slight voyeurism, idiots in love, mutual pining

Word count: 3163

@anglfclulu this one's for you! I hope it's everything you wanted! Sorry about the wait dear!

Enjoy!

“Wrecker, I’m begging you to be more careful. This is the fifth time I’ve redone these stitches!” you complained.

As much as you loved the demolitions expert of Clone Force 99, he could be reckless at times. After your latest mission, Wrecker somehow got his bicep cut deeply into, so you had to stitch him up. You didn’t mind, truly! It was your job as the Batch’s medic to put them back together. It was just Wrecker had continually torn his stitches since you got back to Kamino. It wasn’t often you had shore leave and when you did, it was spent on Kamino. You were thankful for that. It gave you a chance to restock medical supplies on the Marauder, as well as restitch a certain Batcher in a clean, sterile environment.

You didn’t know why Wrecker continued to rip his stitches. It was impossible to you to think that he just wanted to see you. He didn’t like you like that, right?

“Oh, come on, mesh’la! It’s not that bad! You don’t mind stitching me up, do you?”

Rolling your eyes, you snipped the last stitch and started to put away the med kit. You would never admit that you were in love with Wrecker, so you acted annoyed, even if your stomach was fluttering with butterflies. You loved patching the giant up. It gave you a chance to feel the muscles underneath, to feel and wonder how easy he could lift you up; how easily he could pin you to a wall and ravish you endlessly.

Shaking your head to quell the rising arousal in your core, you gently shoved Wrecker, barely moving his arm in doing so.

“Doesn’t matter if I like it or not. Your arm won’t heal properly if you keep ripping the seam. I’d hate for you to be on medical leave because you got on infection,” you harumphed.

Wrecker stood up and flexed his arm, making sure the stitches were strong. Grinning when they didn’t rip, he stretched his arms above his head. Landing his arm above your head, he leaned over you, reminding you how small you were.

“Mesh’la! You know I’d never do that intentionally. Plus, I never mind coming to see you. I look forward to seeing you!”

“Careful Wrecker. You might set her off,” Crosshair teased, moving his toothpick from one side to the other.

You shot a glare the sniper’s way. Wrecker didn’t know about your feelings, and you wanted to keep it that way. You’d risk everything before risking your friendship with Wrecker.

Wrecker looked over to his brother in confusion. What did that mean? Set you off… in anger? Annoyance?

“Crosshair, shut your mouth and show me that leg of yours. I need to know nothings broken,” you snapped.

Wrecker moved away and towards his bunk, still confused about that interaction. He cared about you and hated when you got upset, especially if you were upset with him or his brothers. Maybe a nap would help him understand later.

Crosshair hissed in pain, hating how rough you were being. You clearly were mad at him, but force damn it you were rough. You never were rough unless you were ruthlessly upset with the boys and were mad that they could’ve died. You were very mad at his teasing about your feelings for Wrecker, but Crosshair was trying to move things along! You two had been dancing around for so long the crew was getting tired of your pining.

“Oh, did that hurt? I’m sorry Cross,” you said in a mocking tone. Nothing was broken, just a bit bruised and sprained.

“You really can be mean when you want to be ad’ika. I’m guessing my leg isn’t broken or else you wouldn’t be this rough.”

You looked up at him in frustration as you set bacta on his upper thigh and knee. “You know damn well I don’t want Wrecker knowing about my feelings. Why would you risk outing that?”

Chuckling, Crosshair grabbed another toothpick from his pouch. “Probably cause he likes you too di’kut. I’m trying to make things easier!”

“Kriff you asshole. He could be decommissioned and me fired if we were found out. I’m not risking his life.”

You slapped his leg and stormed away from the med bay. Only 10 more days of leave to go. This was going to be a rough week.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

You needed to let off steam. It wasn’t fair how quickly Wrecker could get you hot and bothered. You excused yourself from the barracks, saying you needed to work off some access adrenaline after patching everyone up. There was only one place you could go for that: the training gym. Kamino kept a gym on base, just so soldiers could work their strength back up after a medical rest, but anyone was welcome to use it.

Walking up to the rack, you calculated the heaviest you could go without hurting yourself. Plus, no one else was around to spot so you had to be careful. The bar was already 44lbs, so you added two 25lbs on each side of the bar. You had intended to deadlift, to pull the bar up but after Wrecker got you flustered, you put the bar set at shoulder height. Stepping under, you adjusted your grip, braced your core and lats, and began your sets of squats. Anything lower body would help cool you down. Your muscles would be burning for a different reason than what you came in for. Anything to distract you from the lustful thoughts for Wrecker.

You were his medic, his friend. You shouldn’t be feeling this way. You felt so guilty. You never dared tell him your feelings, but you felt guilty, nonetheless. Every squat was deeper than the last, subconsciously punishing yourself for your attraction to your friend. You pushed and pushed until your legs were shaking and on the brink of failure. After 5 sets of 10 reps, you racked the bar for the final time. You cleaned it off before moving on. You spread your workout from push to pull. Legs to arms to core and back again. By the time you finished your 7th exercise, you had probably been in the gym close to two hours by now. You wiped down the assisted pullup and moved on.

You eventually moved on to the adductor press. You adjusted the machine, so the pads were the furthest apart. Spreading your legs, you sat the chair and set the weight at 60lbs. Your inner thigh burned at being used after so long of not working them, but you pulled the weight together, so your knees touched gently. It was almost enough to forget your feelings for Wrecker. It would’ve been enough, had the man not walked in himself!

Wrecker had been bored and had started to tease Tech and Crosshair, so much that Hunter told him to work off his excess energy with weights before Crosshair shot him. Shrugging it off, Wrecker joined you. He felt so much towards you, he just didn’t know what to say. He cared about you, probably more than what he should towards a fellow soldier. You were just so lovely. Your bravery, talents, kindness were all things that made Wrecker’s heart flutter. You were so delicate when applying stitches, taking the time and care to make sure everything felt and looked good. You were so natural in caring for others and fighting for what’s right came naturally to you.

One of the many things you loved about Wrecker, was his ability to listen. Too many times you’d caught yourself venting about Crosshair or fuming at Tech’s refusal for help. Hunter could only take so much noise, so you found yourself with Wrecker a lot. It wasn’t long when you started to develop feelings. Wrecker was similar. It didn’t take much for him to start liking you but then the liking turned into something more. Something that made his tummy tighten every time he saw you… like now.

Waving to you, he grabbed some 140lbs dumbbells and started lifting. You almost wanted to scream in frustration. You were sat in the most provocative of muscle assists, legs spread and had a front row seat to Wrecker working out. Kriffing hells. You could feel your cunt start to quiver, juices flowing onto your undies. You sat there frozen; legs spread wide. Your breathing quickened, breaths coming in short pants. Your mouth dried a little. You reached for your water but knocked it over. You could only watch as it rolled away.

Wrecker heard a noise and saw you leaning to the side to reach your fallen bottle. You looked flushed; more flushed than you should’ve after sitting down for a minute. He set his weights down, walked over and grabbed your bottle. Wrecker was a bit worried, you looked feverish. Perhaps you should’ve called quits and gone for a shower if you weren’t feeling well.

“You okay ad’ika? You look like you’ve worked too hard.”

You swallowed harshly, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. “Uhm… yes. Yes, I’m fine Wrecker. Thank you.”

Wrecker took one more look at you before heading back to his bench. You said you were fine, but you certainly didn’t look it. In fact, he wasn’t sure you were even using the machine anymore. You were just sitting there like a stunned mullet, mouth slightly agape and eyes half lidded. He’d seen women give Crosshair and Hunter than same look after a mission or during a night out at 79’s but he’d been too distracted or drunk to notice if women gave him that look; but you were giving it to him now. He had an idea of what it meant as his brothers would go off for the night before returning to the ship, so Wrecker had a theory to test. He started lifting heavier, above his head and out to the sides, bulging his muscles more, giving you a little show.

You had started to slightly grind against your seat, certain that you had soaked through your leggings. He had to have been doing this on purpose, the bastard! You watched as he started to thrust the rack bar above his head, without breaking a sweat! He had to have added at least 200lbs onto the bar. Kriff, your plan to work out the arousal had failed. You needed to be fucked and soon. You were desperate for friction, to the point you didn’t care who saw. If a reg came in and took advantage, you’d thank them if Wrecker didn’t clock on first. You started to gently rub your clit over your leggings.

Wrecker slammed the bar on the rack. He may have known what he was doing to you, but he was still courteous to put his weights away. He stalked over to you, leaning on the machine next to you.

“So, mesh’la. Enjoying the show?” he said, giving the most shit eating grin.

You could only nod, biting your lip to prevent a moan from slipping out.

Smirking, Wrecker gently lifted you out of your seat. Your thighs had been open for a while and were probably sore from the adductor exercise. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him for dear life.

“Shall we continue our workout elsewhere, cyare?”

You finally allowed a moan to slip past your lips. “Yes, please!”

Wrecker carried you across the gym, into the freshers. He pulled away from your lips to briefly scan for anyone else before pulling you into a shower stall. To make it less suspicious, you turned the water on. One, to help your sore muscles, and two, make anyone who enters think you were just showering. Wrecker stripped himself quickly, leaving clothes on the floor.

You let your feet touch the fresher floor as you caressed Wrecker’s body. Every scar, every divot, you let your hands wander and linger to feel every part of his body. You stripped down fast, hanging your clothes on the stall door so anyone would think it was just Wrecker and some barrack bunny.

Wrecker did the same as you, gently letting his hands wander to your derriere where he squeezed and palmed, eliciting moans from your throat. You palmed his erection, wanting to give him as much pleasure as you could. He was big, which you knew to some extent, but you’d need prep to take him all. Which you wanted wholeheartedly; you’d take every thick inch of him.

Wrecker kissed you hard, lifting you up into his arms again. His fingers deftly travelled down to where you wanted friction. He circled your clit gently before venturing one finger into your puckering canal. You bit your lip to silence the moan threatening to release itself.

“Wait,” Wrecker murmured. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

You smiled, tears threatening to come to the surface at his consideration. “Wrecker, I’ve wanted this for a while. I just didn’t want to risk getting you decommissioned. I want you and always have.”

Grinning ear to ear, Wrecker kissed you again. He didn’t put you down yet, but he did press you against the cold wall of the fresher now, so he had more leverage to rock into your hips. You felt his fingers leave your cunt, seemingly satisfied with the prep. He gently pushed into you, giving you time to adjust with every inch he gave. When he bottomed out, you both let out a moan at the feeling. You loved it, so much you started to squirm in his hands.

“Move, Wreck. Please. Please move!”  

He started to thrust up into you, watching every reaction. You seemed to enjoy harsher thrusts than faster ones, so Wrecker made sure to take his time with you. Deliberately thrusting in, he set a rhythm that was delicious and had you crying out. You could feel your breasts bounce up with every thrust, which you knew Wrecker loved. You knew he loved your breasts as he never stopped looking at them when you took your bindings off.

Wrecker loved the feeling of your pussy. You were warm and tight, and it felt like heaven to him. Your little moans and squeaks of pleasure were sounds he never wanted to stop hearing. He continued to thrust up into you, wanting you to finish before him. He could tell you were getting close as your pussy started to pulse involuntarily. Contracting and releasing as you bit his shoulder to cover your moan when you came. Your juices leaking slowly around his cock.

He set you down gently, kissing you once more before kneeling in front of you. He hooked one leg over his shoulder, licking and biting to where he wanted to be. Pressing a gentle kiss to your vulva, he licked you, delving his tongue into your waiting pussy. Hearing you moan was the greatest sound he could ever hear, better than any explosion he ever set off. He wanted to hear more, and he was gonna pull them out of you.

Wrecker started to eat you out like a man starved, sucking every drop of arousal out of your cunt. Swirling his tongue around your clit, he moaned into your vulva, sending vibrations up your spine. You both had waited so long for this, and it was finally happening.

Until Wrecker froze at the sound of the fresher doors opening. You heard some regs come in from training and covered your mouth to silence your moans. You thanked the Maker there were stall doors for the female staff to hide themselves so the men wouldn’t ogle. You weren’t one to shy away due to modesty, but you certainly did not want to be caught by regs.  

Wrecker lifted you up again with ease to hide you from being seen, wanting to save you from embarrassment. He was used to being bullied by regs, but you didn’t deserve that treatment.

“Oi, defect! Why’re you hiding in a stall? You embarrassed about your size?” a reg sneered.

They had obviously seen Wrecker but not you.

Not wanting to hear anymore quips from them, you moved your hand away from your mouth. Wrecker raised a brow in question before smother a laugh as you moaned as loud as you could with a smirk on your lips.

“Kriff Wrecker! You’re so big! I kriffing love being your barrack bunny! Fuck me harder baby!” you cried, pitching your voice higher than normal so you wouldn’t be found out.

It wasn’t often you swore like that, but Wrecker would make it his goal to hear it more. His hand hadn’t stopped stretching and prepping you, so he was able to slip in easily with your wetness. You released a wanton moan so sinful; Wrecker knew the regs had a hard on.

“Sorry lads, couldn’t hear you over my plaything!” Wrecker taunted. “What were you saying?”

“Come on! At least give us a turn when you’re done with her!”

Wrecker grimaced when you clenched around him as a tease. “No way! She’s mine and mine alone.” He kissed your earlobe before whispering to you, “And I’m hers. I belong to her.”

You cried out in pleasure, shivers sent down your spine as he rocked into you gently. Hips giving you the friction you desired. You met every thrust with one of your own, clawing at his shoulders, wanting more of him.

You barely registered the regs finishing up and leaving to find their own bunnies as you approached your high. You never thought the aspect of being caught would spice it up for you but as Wrecker thrusted harder and faster into your desperate pussy, you knew you’d be a little more daring in the future.

“Cyare, I’m close. Where?”

You tightened your legs around his waist. “Inside me. Please! Cum inside me!”

Your second high was approaching and feeling his cum shoot into your warm cunt, was the push you needed to finish too.  Your breathes intermingled, foreheads touching letting the other enjoy the closeness.

“Dear gods, please let that happen again.” Wrecker mumbled into your neck.

Laughing you agreed before kissing him again. In blissful silence, you finished showering and dressing together before walking back to the barracks hand in hand. You were smiling and telling jokes as you felt something hit your head.

Lula landed in front of your feet from Crosshair’s throw. Wrecker picked her up and hugged Lula close before handing her to you. Tech looked up from his little tinkering station, noting your changed attitudes and calmer demeanor. Something changed between you two and Tech knew, even without Hunter’s advanced senses.

“So, you finally fucked then?” Hunter mused, smelling the sex on you two, even after your shower.

You smiled as Wrecker flopped into his bunk, not wanting to reveal yourselves too quickly. Wrecker had other plans.

“Yup! Guess you were right boys! Should’ve just told her months ago!”

Hopefully it's everything you wanted darling!

Requests are happily accepted and constructive criticism is welcome!

#ao3 fanfic #star wars the bad batch #sw tbb #clone thirsting #bad batch smut #clone smut #tbb wrecker #wrecker x reader #wrecker smut #wrecker x reader smut #fanfic #smut #tbb smut #female reader #x reader

[ride-a-dromedary]

I mentioned that Halsin's mother left him a slender journal with all of her notes, remedies, and recipes from her time as a healer experimenting with different ways of treating ailments. It's been an invaluable resource to him, even if some of her concoctions have become difficult to procure with resources they once had easy access to becoming less readily available with time.

He takes that little book near everywhere with him, the pages practically disintegrating with age, held together by a wing and a prayer and careful restitching of paper under the elven crafted leather binding - still in tact - some places worn completely smooth and illegible with age.

And the thing is, he's memorized that journal cover to cover; he knows every note and every scribble in the margins; has used nearly every recipie several hundred times over; remembers the order of the mixture of her burn salve to the exact consitency. He remembers how it used to smell, and the corner where she wrote his name before it eventually creased away. So, by all means, he does not need to take it with him anymore, if for nothing else, to keep it in tact. But he takes it with him regardless because every now and again, he likes to open it and look at his mother's handwriting, carefully tracing over her unclosed loops and crowded letters; it's the last thing of hers he has that has not been lost to time. And he fears one day he'll forget what it looked like, as he has started to forget what she looked like.

#BG3 Musing #BG3 OCs #Halsin #Halsin Posting #lucky for him he happened to leave it at the grove that last time with the drow because otherwise it would have been lost to him #like his other posessions were stripped from him - like Cath's leather chord necklace and Kan's ring #so at least there's that #it's one of those things where when he started struggling to easily pull up her face in his mind he scrambled for something #he could *see* to remind himself #and he can always access them in his reverie but it was nice to have something of theirs to remind him that those ghostly images #WERE at one point

[annaofaza]

Inspired by this lovely fanvid by @uynumeotp <3

He wakes up on a white couch.

Vash's first instinct is bury his head in his hands. He can't go through this. Not again.

But when he looks up, it's... different. The orphanage is bustling, as it is now, with the shouts of children playing tag; he can even hear Miss Melanie scolding someone for not helping sweep the yard. A grove of trees surrounds them, laden with tiny white flowers.

And when he blinks, there's a table, absurdly set for two, draped in a white cloth with all the things Vash loves: a box full of doughnuts, a plate heaped with spaghetti, pint glasses bubbling over with foam. He's seated in one of the rickety folding chairs that they drag out of the closet for visitors, underneath the umbrella he's had close on his hand more than once.

And in the middle of the table, a bottle, with a familiar label...

"Tongari."

Vash closes his eyes.

"It's impolite to ignore someone right in front of you, spikey."

Slowly, slowly, he opens his eyes, and sees Wolfwood seated across from him.

There's no blood on his suit, no feverish gleam in his eyes, no sweat on his brow, no cross in sight—he looks as neat and pressed as he's always infuriatingly been in the middle of nowhere. Vash drinks him in, going back to the little details he'd already forgotten: the way his buttons have been stitched and restitched on, the tiny crosses standing out stark white on his wrist like cufflinks, the almost delicate way he holds a cigarette between his fingers.

"Tongari," Wolfwood repeats, "I guess I can't call you blondie now, can I?"

"No" is all he can say. His eyes go to Wolfwood's—and stay there. He's not wearing his sunglasses, now, and that, of all things, makes his throat close up.

"I hardly recognize you without your coat, either. What did you do with that thing?"

"I... put it away," Vash manages. He remembers Meryl giving a song and dance at not having it for tonight's show, the exclusive interview, Vash shoving her away, laughing, when she (half) jokingly told him to strip to make up for it. You'll ruin me! They'll get us for false advertising! and him howling, You shouldn't have made promises you couldn't keep! and her shrieking, Milly! Milly! Hold him down!

"Your glasses, too?"

No more hiding, he'd told them. Everyone knows who I am anyway. Nai wore them, sometimes, with his cloak. Sometimes Vash would get the shivers, looking at him, his twin a ghost from long ago.

Vash watches as Wolfwood takes another drag, smoke escaping from his lips. "After all this time," he finds himself saying, "you haven't stopped smoking?"

Wolfwood chuckles. "It's not like it'll do anything here."

Vash's eyes fill with tears.

"Come now," Wolfwood says, more gently. "I've missed your smile. I never did get to see it one last time."

"You were dying," Vash retorts, before he can think, Wolfwood even now knowing how to push his buttons. "Did you want me to stand up and cheer, too?"

Wolfwood's eyes soften. He really does look different without his glasses; Vash wishes he could have seen more of his eyes. "It was bound to happen at some point, tongari. I'm surprised I made it that long, frankly."

"You should have—" Vash chokes; he's thought this over countless nights, alternatively raging and breaking down into sobs, even once destroying a hotel's box fan. It wasn't fair, it wasn't, it had been the only thing he'd asked whoever was up there, whoever Rem believed in; he wouldn't have even asked Wolfwood to stay by his side. If he could have just been, without having to have so much on his shoulders, had the blank ticket all his life. But because of Vash... "I should have—"

"Ah, tongari," Wolfwood says regretfully, "have you been carrying this around all this time? If anything, I shouldn't have left you. But I thought it was my mess, my burden, and... so many things, really." He takes another puff, breathes it out, reaches for a shot glass.

"If I had been there..."

Wolfwood shakes his head. "You don't know that, and we can't change it." He downs his drink in one gulp, slams the glass down. "Tongari, you've saved the universe. You did what I didn't think was possible: making peace with Knives. And I think without having to run all the time... You're just getting started."

Tears are blurring his vision, now. "But I don't..."

"Tongari. You promised Meryl. Milly is there, Livio is there, you have so many damn people who love you, spikey, for a good reason." He smiles. In the distance, white petals begin falling from the trees. "I'm not going to be mad at you for living. You'll see me again, in time."

He's right, damn him. Vash wipes his eyes, trying to hold in Wolfwood's image for as long as he can, to erase the warmth of blood soaking through his coat and the sound of dirt thudding on a too-still body.

"Nicholas..." he whispers.

Across the table, Wolfwood places a hand on his, squeezing gently, and Vash knows there's nothing more to say.

#vashwood #trigun #trigun spoilers #my fic

[royalvelvette]

dance with me, darling

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/F, M/M, Multi Relationships: Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie, Charlie Magne | Morningstar & Valentino, Charlie Magne | Morningstar & Velvette, Charlie Magne | Morningstar & Vox, Valentino & Velvette & Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel) Characters: Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette (Hazbin Hotel), Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Overworking, Overworked Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Autistic Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs a Hug, Husk is Bad At Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Good Significant Other Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Overworked Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Idiots in Love, Dancing, Self-Esteem Issues, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Two Shot Summary:

Local quintet need to slow down and take a break, seventy-year-old cat man says.

Read on Archive of Our Own here.

once again breaking up the originally a one-shot into a two-parter because the setting information got away from me. Second part (the sillies dancing) will post either later tonight or early tomorrow morning.

Part 1 under the cut. Word count: 1753

It was finally quiet in the hotel. Not completely, in the way of well-populated areas, but quieter than it had been since... since.

(Charlie didn’t want to think about since. About red red blood, and missing limbs, and still nearly running out of medicines even after Auntie Belphagor had sent some up expressways, and the amount of dead still in the streets when, normally, the cannibals would have cleared the majority by now.)

It was a quiet she desperately needed; too many nights had been lost to passing cot-to-cot while Val kept everything calm and Vaggie was out in the streets, pulling in even more wounded (there had been so many buried underneath the rubble that remained of the once-bustling weapons district). Vox was usually gone as well – his drones made him invaluable when trying to find anyone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, call out. Velvette helped out where she could – usually upstairs, stitching and restitching wounds when the original stitches inevitably got pulled. She just... needed a moment. A moment alone, to herself, in the quiet, because if it was quiet it meant nobody was hurting. (Charlie was tired of her people hurting).

She slid down the closed door of their bedroom, sighing, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She just... wanted to rest. Wanted to see Vaggie for longer than twenty minute intervals or however long it took them to fall asleep at night. Wanted to see Velvette stitching new outfits instead of skin, wanted to hear Valentino speak without his voice coming out scratchy and cracking, wanted Vox to be present at the hotel instead of having his eyes in his drones. Want-want-want, what a selfish creature – her people were injured and dying, and here she was wanting things that would keep them from being helped.

... Charlie allowed herself to wallow for a minute more before pushing off the floor. Val needed more water, probably, and it wouldn’t hurt to check in on Velvette and see if she needed any more supplies. Maybe, if there was more quiet time later, she could spend some time with Vox and see if she could spot Vaggie on the feeds.

Husk was only a little annoyed about the fact he had been unceremoniously promoted to hotel manager. He got it, he did – Vaggie was out in the streets every day, the Vees had shit to do, and the princess was trying to help everyone at the same time like she always did, but he didn’t sign up for this shit.

(He didn’t really sign up at all, but, well. Al said jump, he jumped. Even if he didn’t want to.)

It wasn’t supposed to be his job to direct the staff, keep Niffty from causing too many problems, and put out metaphorical fires. He was just a goddamn bartender! His job was keep his bar clean, keep it stocked, and sling booze to order while drinking some himself. Sue him, sometimes he missed being an overlord, but managing the souls under him to keep the casino running smoothly? That wasn’t one of them; and yet, here he was, doing that same thing except with none of the fucking power that came with it.

(And, honest to God, if one more imp got uppity with him about being told to keep the parlour clean so none of the injured chucklefucks got infections, he was going to tear the unlucky bastard’s head off. Something had to be done; preferably before he lost his job.)

Opportunity struck that night, as luck would have it. (Who the fuck was he kidding – luck hadn’t been on his side since the day his soul stopped belonging to him.) But whatever it was, it wound up with Vaggie sitting down at the bar for the first time in two weeks. It was the first time Husk had really been able to get a look at her – at any of them – since everything went down. And Vaggie?

Vaggie looked like shit. Her wings and hair were matted with blood and dirt, the bags under her eyes rivalled his, and she was barely managing to sit upright on her stool – only doing so by leaning against her spear. If the Vees and Charlie were anything like this – and his bets were on yes – it was worse than he thought. Something was going to give, and give soon.

(Alastor would want to know, something in his mind whispered.

Fuck off, Husk thought back. The thought of Alastor anywhere near this place, near these people, made his fur stand on end.)

He pulled some Beelzejuice out from under the counter and got a stein ready. Vaggie still hadn’t said anything, staring blankly past him, but that suited Husk just fine. Getting the drink ready would hopefully let him get his thoughts in order so he didn’t sound like a total jackass.

(There wasn’t really a nice way to say “If the five of you don’t take a break soon, you’re going to end up useless,” but he really wanted to find one. Last thing anybody needed was the fallout from Vaggie trying to stab him when she was too tired to reign in her impulses.)

Vaggie snapped out of her stupor when Husk slid the mug – maybe a bit too full, with how some slopped out – over to her. She nodded her thanks, but didn’t move to pick it up. Husk busied himself with the spill; anything to put the conversation off a little longer. He watched Vaggie out of the corner of his eye as he did; just in case. She seemed fine, and eventually moved to sip at the drink, then chug it down like a woman dying of thirst.

He tossed the soiled rag into the bucket behind the counter before leaning against the back wall. “You got a sec before bed, boss?” he asked.

Vaggie set the mug down a little harder than strictly necessary. “Not really,” she said. “Gotta get an early start tomorrow, y’know, digging people out of the rubble and all.”

Husk’ll give her credit – she kept the unlike you quiet. “About that,” he started. “You... uh, you sure you don’t want to take a break?”

Vaggie snorted. “What, and stand around like you do? No, I have to-”

“I ain’t doing nothing,” Husk snapped, “I’m doing your fucking job since you’re never here. You think I want to be tellin’ imps and sinners what to do? I didn’t sign up for that shit!”

Vaggie’s face twisted into a half-snarl, half-frown. “What, you want a raise? A medal? Newsflash, asshole, we’re all doing shit we didn’t sign up for right now-”

“I don’t need that shit, I just- you guys-”

Vaggie stood up, and even though her eyes were nearly level with the bar, her furious glare made up for it. “Whatever, I’ll – I’ll deal with it, fuck, give you a raise, hire someone else-”

“You ain’t fuckin’ listening to me.” Husk could feel his own temper threading. “I don’t want a raise, I want you to take a break!”

“I can’t!” Vaggie snarled. “If I stop, Charlie’ll-”

Snap. The last of his patience fled with a near audible sound as his legs extended and shoulders widened, wings flaring, yellow iris glowing vibrant against his black sclera. Even still, his voice didn’t rise above a hiss.

“You all need to stop. The five of you aren’t gonna last like this,” he said. “You’re no fucking use if you burn out before you can finish working. And...”

He shrunk back to his normal size, forcibly reigning in his temper. Vaggie was staring at him with wide eye, spear held in a white-knuckled grip – ready to fight or flee, didn’t matter. What mattered was she was silent, and paying attention.

“I’m. Worried about you,” Husk said finally. “You – don’t need to end up like me. You five need to take a break, all of you.”

Christ, but he hoped Niffty was busy upstairs somewhere. Vaggie was still just – staring at him, though the grip she had on her spear had relaxed somewhat.

Then her eye started to water and her face contorted and oh fuck, fuck he wasn’t – he couldn’t handle crying people on a good day. She sniffed once, hard, scrubbed at her eye. Husk held his breath, terrified that one wrong move from him would set her off. He could still only sorta handle Charlie crying, and that was because she cried a lot.

Vaggie took a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay,” she said, voice just this side of wobbly, “okay. I’ll... we’ll take a day off. I’ll make sure of it.”

Husk let some of the tension out of his shoulders. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

Vaggie turned to leave, but then turned back, pointing at him with her spear. “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’ll-”

He waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll write you an apology letter or whatever. Go to sleep, kid.”

Vaggie felt a little bad as she finally slipped into the room she shared with Charlie. The lamp was still on, even though Charlie was fast asleep, book hanging precariously from her fingers. That suited her better than if Charlie had still been awake, but still – she missed her girlfriend, and these moments before sleep claimed them were some of the only ones they had been getting. Hopefully, her plans for tomorrow would make up for it – if Charlie wasn’t angry about them. Vaggie carefully crept closer to the bed, pausing as Keekee lifted her head from her spot against Charlie’s side.

Vaggie raised a finger to her lips.

“Mrrp,” Keekee said, snuggling closer to Charlie but otherwise ignoring her.

Vaggie carefully took Charlie’s book, setting it face down on the end table. Charlie’s phone screen lit up dimly at the motion, then again when Vaggie picked it up. She inputted the password and navigated to the clock app, grimacing at exactly how early the alarm was set for (her own alarm wasn’t much better), before turning it off. Her own was already turned off, and she had done the same to Velvette’s and Valentino’s. Vox’s was a little trickier because of his internal clock, but hopefully – hopefully – he would respect the text she had sent him instead.

Mission done, Vaggie set her girlfriend’s phone back down – this time face down. Charlie was going to be furious when she woke up tomorrow morning, but Husk... was right. They all needed a break – Charlie probably most of all.

#op content #my writing #hazbin hotel fanfiction #steadvast hoteliers #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #velvette hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #the vees hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #chaggie #rainbowmoth #staticmoth #fanfiction #tags after this for archival purposes #vaggie #husk #valentino #vox #velvette #alastor #the vees

[babiebom]

Hewwo , hope your doing well~ I really wanna request the bachelor's and bachelorettes with a partner who always, really ALWAYS, has to sleep with their comfort childhood plush (no matter how crusty, dusty, musty, stinky, misty, stitched and old it is. Thats always how you see that this thing has been loved and cuddled to no end) and always brings it along at sleepovers, how would they act or react? What do they think about it?

A/N: hewwooooooooo!! I am okay!I hope by the time you're reading this that you are doing well!! Also honestly ME I have an old stuffed dog that my great grandma gave me as a child. It is stinky, my dogs have chewed it up, and it has no eyes. I can't sleep with it because of my sensory issues(I have no idea if this is what it is) and my asthma. But i still keep it I love him

Genre:Mtl? Reactions?

Tw: mentions of bullying, jealousy. Some negative reactions, cursing.

Wc: idk but its a little long

Masterlist MINORS DNI

MOST UNDERSTANDING

Penny

Harvey

Emily

Sam

Sebastian

Elliott

Maru

Abigail

Shane

Leah

Haley

Alex

LEAST UNDERSTANDING

PENNY, HARVEY, EMILY, SAM

would be the least judgemental. Doesn't matter if you are in a relationship or not. They would be VERY understanding about your plush. Emily would be the type to offer to fix it up like restitch, wash up, she would be very sweet and would probably make you a new one to be friends with your original one. Harvey would only be worried about if the plush was too dirty and bad for your health. Like dust and stuff in the lungs is not great and he does not want you to get sick at all. Will not judge if you want him to not wash it. Just is on standby to keep you healthy. Penny probably has plushies of her own so she is not judgemental at ALL. Would like to keep all the plushies together on the bed. Literally she would be so happy someone is like her especially because her mom hates some of hers because they're from her father. Sam is just understanding all around. Love plushies? Okay. He loves everything about you unless you were a serial killer I doubt he would be judgmental or mean about anything you like or love.

SEBASTIAN, MARU, ELLIOTT, ABIGAIL

These four are a bit tricky for me because while I don't think they are particularly judgmental I still feel like they wouldn't be as understanding as the four above them. I feel like Maru would be the type to try and understand in a more scientific sort of way. She would research and talk about it in a very "well this is why you're attached and this is the science explanation for it" sort of person. I feel like she might say some hurtful things but not on purpose. Its just because she doesn't understand social things. I feel like Elliott was more sheltered growing up so he wasn't allowed plushies or anything of the sort, and toys got thrown away when he got too old for them so he just doesn't really understand why you still sleep with one. Won't do anything more than ask questions about why you still sleep and cuddle it. Abigail is more understanding but also more teasing about it than the others. She's not mean or hateful about her teasing, she's just joking as her way of showing love. Sebastian I feel like would be curious about why you need it so much. He isn't judging he is just very curious. He wants to know about why you love it so much. Might make inappropriate jokes, but backs off if you don't like them. Overall chill about it.

SHANE, LEAH, HALEY, ALEX

These four, really depend on how much they like you. Like a romantic relationship will get a different reaction than a platonic or negative one with these guys. Shane understands the most out of the four on sometimes needing things to feel comfortable and safe. He knows. So he's not really judgmental about you needing a plush. He is however a person that would get jealous of your plush if you're in a romantic relationship, like he wants to be the thing(person) that you go to to feel comfort. He wants to be what you need to sleep or feel safe. He won't say any of this though, because he knows that it's irrational and something he could work on. In a friendship or disliked kind of relationship he won't judge but he won't be nice or careful about it at all and might hurt your feelings even if he's not trying to. Leah does not really care at all either way. Like okay? Your plushies are yours and have nothing to do with her. If you are in a romantic relationship she cares a little bit more. She'll take care to not be carless with your plushies. Like she won't throw it around or kick it out of the way. She would be nicer about it, but her overall attitude would be she doesn't really care. It's not positive or negative she doesn't judge it's just a little quirk. Haley would absolutely be different based on how she feels for you. In a romantic sense she would be super careful about how she talks about your plush. She doesn't understand at all. She probably thinks it's childish but she won't say anything about. If she's friend with you she is a lot less careful. She might make jokes or comments that will hurt your feelings but would apologize depending on how hurt you are. If she dislikes you you are being made fun of. Especially if it's in front of other people. She absolutely is judging you and will make it obvious, not a good time. Alex is similar to Haley in that he does not understand at all, but it depends on what point in life he is in how he will react. In high school he will be more teasing if he likes you, saying things like "where's our child" or something. If he dislikes you he will make fun of you with his gridball friends it's a stereotypical high school experience. In adulthood I feel like he calms down. He's not going to make fun or anything but he will probably comment and maybe hurt your feelings either way. An apology will only come of he likes you.

Reactions

For the following everything is in a more friendly type of relationship. Gender neutral reader

Things were finally winding down, it was already way too late into the night to continue being awake if you all wanted to be able to get up in the morning. Everyone was already almost ready to sleep, yet you still stood next to your bag, hoping they would at least lie down quickly. It's not that you were embarrassed, you just really didn't feel like dealing with their reactions, especially tired. Shane was already lying down, eyes closed but not sleeping. With everyone distracted you quickly bring out your plush, pressing it against your chest as you move towards your sleeping spot. Someone sees you before you can lay down.

Shane would say something like "do you even wash that thing?" Then continue trying to sleep. If you're upset he would make it clear that he is joking.

Elliott wouldn't really react he would probably side eye and continue his bedtime routine. It's none of his buisness.

Sebastian would let out a little chuckle, looking at you for a second before turning his attention to the plush, then continuing to get ready. "It's actually cute..." He would say.

Alex would frown, but not in an unhappy way, in a more confused way. "Why'd you bring that?" He does not mean it in a bad way, he is just so confused.

Sam would probably make it a "big deal" on accident. It wasn't as if he was like OH MY GOD about it he was just sort of like "woah! What's that?" In a very cute and surprised type of way.

Harvey would frown at how dirty and stinky your plush is, the color off from how little it's been washed. He doesn't really say anything, just makes a mental note to offer some vitamins or something for your immune system.

Haley would laugh out loud for a second. Eyeing the plush then saying "you cannot be serious" when she sees that her comment is hurtful she changes her tune and coughs awkwardly, continuing to get ready for bed. "I mean...I didn't mean it in a bad way. I mean it's kinda cool that you kept yours...i wish I kept mine." It's very awkward.

Emily would be surprised and smiley about it. "Oh! Do you want me to sew it up? It looks like the seams are coming loose."

Leah wouldn't really react. She would just look and quirk up an eyebrow making a mental note that this is something that you keep. But that's really it nothing special as she knows everyone has their things.

Abigail would laugh, but not in a mean way. In a teasing sort of way. She would move towards you but not try and take the plush because of how tightly you're holding it. "No no! I swear it's cute! Like you!"

Maru would be surprised, and her eyebrows would go up from seeing you holding this plush so lovingly. She would rattle off some scientific facts that have something to do with how you need the plush to sleep. "It's really all very interesting! Maybe we csn research it together!"

Penny would be VERY excited. She would bring out one of her own, smiling brightly on how she doesn't have to hide her own. "Oh thank Yoba! I was scared I would have to wait until you fell asleep!"

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv reactions #stardew reactions #stardew valley reactions #sdv headcanons #stardew headcanon #stardew valley headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #sdv harvey #sdv hcs #sdv shane #sdv elliott #sdv alex #sdv penny #sdv abigail #sdv leah #sdv emily #sdv haley #sdv maru #stardew sebastian #stardew sam #stardew harvey #stardew shane #stardew alex #stardew elliott #stardew abigail #stardew penny

[justiceleaque]

i've been meaning to comment on the DCEU for a long time now but always held back in hopes i wouldn't need to because something might change. for full transparency, this comes from someone who hasn't been able to fully involve myself with anything relating to comics for quite a few years now so what i say isn't worth taking to heart. but i was here when they launched the first movie, i was here when people were losing their minds at the hints of something more in the second movie, i was front row and center making content for the following few movies when everything came together and we finally got the big three on the screen

here's the thing and i'll keep it short: i loved snyder's vision and there were many who didn't. and from day one, i was fine with people not enjoying the movies because everyone has a different experience with the source material. i had made the prediction that after justice league, people would return to batman v. superman, to man of steel, and suddenly find it an enjoyable, full-circle trilogy; i made jokes when the exact thing happened because it was stupid and ridiculous and, at the end of the day, predictably funny. it didn’t ultimately matter to me because i genuinely enjoyed what i got and was happy to have more people on board. the bigger the party the bigger the snacks, baebey!!!!!!!!!!!

and then, i started losing steam. WB didn’t know what they wanted to do. they chose to listen to the part of the audience that was dissatisfied and often asked for more marvel-like works, which is not something i agreed with ✨but!✨ had they decided to actually change sails completely, to move towards that particular horizon wholly, i would’ve had more respect for the overall direction of the universe and likely stuck with it

the chopping and restitching and smashing of everything together until something hopefully comes out and then groaning when it doesn’t but maybe it did but oh boy who cooked it this way oopsie oh well hehe hihi was, and is to this day, nauseating to see. in its literal definition. it gives me vertigo every time i see another article about WB moving to a different direction with its DC movies. the enjoyable films that have come out since lose their charm the moment i realize they’ll either be ignored, retconned, or straight up misremembered in their own future material because there’s no unified vision. the big boss doesn’t know where he’s going so we’re forced to make multiple pit stops for gas without being allowed any coke zero, a bottle of pepsi max, a single bubblegum packet. spare some change, you little bitch

not even touching certain, uh, problems with actors involved because even with an immaculate roster none of this could’ve prevented me from silently dropping out when, at the end of the pitiful day, there’s no DCEU. what’s extended about this universe? my patience is

[levmada]

You have such a good perspective on canon!levi, how do you do it!! 🥰🤩 the cold weather has made me think fluffy thoughts... sooooo....

What are your thoughts on post-war levi needing some help with cutting his hair? He can manage, but it's probably harder to do, right? Does he even keep the undercut? Uh-oh, maybe the top grows out enough for a bun. Is this the first time he lets someone other than his mother cut it for him? Does it mean something to him, or does he just not like other people messing with it? If he needed help, he probably wouldn't ask, you'd just have to get in there and do it... and then it would just be a part of your routine together. I need to hear your thoughts!!

Also happy new year 😘😘

xoxo

happy new year!! idk how this post got so srs but here we are.... i promise... its fluffy towards the end...

//internalized ableism, mentioned suicidal ideation, some minor manga spoilers + hinted ch132 spoiler | wc: 1.0k

He didn’t get to cut his hair (I bet) for that month he was in the forest with Zeke. And then after the final battle, he’s in the hospital for some long months while his face heals (did you know that face wounds heal super well compared to other flesh wounds?), he gets multiple surgeries on his knee, and treated for the internal bleeding caused by the explosion (remember when he coughs up blood in the manga?), etc. The point is, he’s in the worst shape of his life.

And in all that time, his bangs grow to fall over his eyes all the time. They don’t like to stay pushed back over his forehead, either, and the prickly stubbled part of his undercut gains length. The longer tail in the back has creeped down his nape.

This is one more thing to constantly unsettle him. Routinely he’s always cut his hair every two weeks on the dot if he can, and he’s never let it get bad enough to grow out this much, not since he was a little kid.

He’s always cut his hair himself, too. At this point he’s firm in the belief that he’s the only one who can get it right, and on top of Levi’s stubborn independence and his newly realized weaknesses, means he’s defiant to letting even you (who has stuck to his side since he was admitted) trim it. You can count on one hand how many times he let you help with it in the past.

“I’ll cut it for you,” you offer out of the blue, for the hundredth time.

He, who’d been half-dozing in his hospital bed, grunts to show his distaste. The majority of the bandages are off his face, except for the white wrappings hugging one of his eyes. Unfortunately, Hange’s stitches had been removed, and restitched. Levi got extremely irate with the doctor who explained to him that the work done was shoddy, like whoever that’d done it seemed to be in a rush.

Either way, it still feels strange to talk with the cleft in his lips. “You’ve done enough for me.”

You stroke his uninjured hand. The other is still bandaged. Recently, he went through another small surgery to get them properly amputated to the second knuckle to prevent nerve damage and infection. (I’m so fucking sad.)

“The most I’ve done is just be here,” you say meaningfully. “Please let me help, ‘Vi.”

For the most part, Levi has been completely numb since the war ended. Maybe he’s still in shock, like the professionals say, but he has had the suspicion that he’s broken... That is until you beg him so genuinely. A familiar affection for you pulls in him. It reminds him. Not broken.

He blinks at you, and sighs deeply through his nose. “Only if… it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never. I already asked for the proper tools.”

He deadpans a little, affection growing. “Fine.”

Smiling, you give him a kiss.

Levi huffs. He’s stronger than he was since being admitted. With a few pillows fluffed up behind him, he sits up with relative ease. His socked feet brush the floor, where he stares down, deliberating.

“You shouldn’t—”

“If you get that fucking chair, forget it.” He raises his head and glares defiantly at you. “I’m not a shitty baby. I can fucking walk.”

You never said he was, never even implied it, but you understand why he’s lashing out. So you compromise by sitting down beside him, and sliding your arm around his waist. He hooks one of his over your shoulders, saying nothing as you together maneuver to stand. The bathroom is a few paces away, but to Levi it feels like miles as he heavily favors his good leg, causing him to hobble.

His cheeks burn in humiliation. Not because you’re helping him, but the fact that he needs help in the first place. He doesn’t even let the nurses do this.

In the same way, all the meaning of this favor to him isn’t in you cutting his hair. It touches him that you’d go out of your way (in his mind) yet again for him, as difficult as he knows he’s being. Has been.

He hates that his body’s this way now. Mangled beyond recognition of how it used to be, how it used to work. He’s left broken parts. Damaged. He’s permanently useless forever, he thinks. The resulting burden makes him think at his darkest moments that it would’ve been easier on himself and everyone else if he just died after killing Zeke. His duty was done. It would’ve taken long enough.

This occasional slew of dark thoughts have grown more common since he’s had time to do more or less nothing but think. When he remembers that everyone he fought beside, including and especially you, were thrilled that he was recovering, he feels a horrible stab of guilt. He should be grateful. The Titans are gone. He should be at peace, overjoyed. He doesn’t deserve to feel this much pain considering everyone else who lost their lives. Everyone close to him is dead. But, except you. Except you.

(I need to get back on topic.)

In the bathroom, he braces himself using the counter, his bad leg raised as you drag a regular chair inside.

“Same as always?”

“Yeah.”

He thought he’d feel even more pathetic that he can’t even do this with two less fingers and his eyesight, but he finds himself… relaxed for the first time in ages. More placated whenever your fingers card through his hair, occasionally scratching affectionately as you go about trimming, then buzzing his hair way down near the base of his skull and around his ears.

You’re slow and careful about it, and Levi finds himself holding onto that.

When his hair is fixed, the style as he always had it, he feels a shred better. Your eyes meet through the reflection.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

Later in the future, when Levi is out of the hospital (which he leaves on crutches), and enough time has passed to partway recover and re-establish a new routine in your lives, you still cut his hair the majority of the time. His eyesight messes with his field of view—it’s a task to land kisses to your lips, let alone cut his hair straight. So even though he’s ambidextrous, that doesn’t mean much.

Every two weeks, same as always, you stand behind him with a towel laid out for the stray hairs, and wordlessly set about doing it for him. He could grow it out, but he much rather prefers a few things staying the same as they’ve always been. Including his hair. Especially you.

🏷:  @ms-longbeach | @sparkywrites25 | @notgoodforlife | @ackermendick | @mrsackermannx | @youre-ackermine | @lovolee3 | @spouse-of-the-rulers-of-hell | @yoongiluuvr | @the-milk-anon | @belovedackerman | @imkumichan | @sckerman | @nao-vel | @happybird16 | @promethiumcloud | @dstrong-18 | +link to sign up

#aot drabbles #levi ackerman drabble #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman angst #aot spoilers #snk x reader #levi ackerman x you

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 III

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Found out I wrote 751 words last fic, let’s try and make that 1,000-2,000 on this one. Is this slowburn???

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams(I got chu.), @egrets-not-regrets.(I got chu too.)

TW // Stalking.

Scratching behind the ears of the tabby cat that laid on top of my cast in the perfect loaf form, her loud purrs rumbled through her small body. Her orange, slit eyes are now big, and round. Enjoying every little bit of attention to her.

“She usually isn’t like that.” Marie commented, slowly sitting back in her rocking chair with a small cup of tea in her hands. Her hands bring up the cup to her lips, taking a sip out of the tea cup.

Marie was an interesting cat, plant lady? She had plants all around her home, looking like a jungle in some rooms. Cats laying around, basking in the sunlight that beamed through the windows, making “air biscuits.” Marie informed me the day she led me into her home. Which was no longer than 12 hours ago.

She had thought I was a stray cat when I stumbled upon the backyard of her home, tripping over her watering can at 5:00 in the morning. I nearly had it by just walking into random stuff. I almost picked up the can, and threw it at her neighbors house until she came out, wrapping her arm around mine dragging me inside her house.

I was so confused at that moment, wondering why this old lady was talking to me so sweetly, taking me inside of her home, and forcing me to sit down in one of her antique couches. What if I was a murder lady?

It was only then, when she mentioned “hospital rags” did I take notice of how I must have looked to her. A filthy woman, with bandages wrapped around her head, and a cast for an arm.

She had swiftly forced me to take a shower, mentioning a first-aid in a closet while she went looking for some temporary clothes for me. Leaving me puzzled, but slowly complying.

After having a very needed shower, I walked out of the tub, smelling like a new grown bush full of lavender.

When Marie came back in with some clothes. I think I had her stunned? Astonished? There for a second, her forest green eyes roaming my scarred, naked body.

“Oh! My poor thing!” She had sniffled, quickly putting the clothes on the counter, and carefully pulling me close. Observing me some more before switching up tasks, and grabbed the first aid from the closet. Intent on rewrapping my wounds herself.

That’s how I ended up with fresh clothes from the 90’s, and new bandages, smelling like any other old lady with a cat purring on my cast.

Looking back down at the little feline. I felt a little honored by Maries comment as I moved my hand underneath her chin, scratching her sweet spot there, her neck stretching out, eyes closed in content.

Then a flash of yellow hit my eye as I winced. My head snapping up, trying to spot whatever flashed me through the sunroom windows.

“You are like a cat that has seen a bird out there.” Marie compared, lowering her tea cup back onto its little, matching plate with a tink. “Always seeing movement out there.”

Despite seeing nothing, I still looked around. Just knowing something was there. The same trickling feeling sending shivers down my neck since I walked off from the hospital.

Could it be the Adeptus Custodes? No, It can’t be, I wasn’t a high priority. I wasn’t someone they would waste their potential on.

Looking back at Marie, I didn’t say anything to her. Not that she expected much. I haven’t peeped a word to her besides some grunts of pain when she helped me restitch and wrap the new bandage around my torso.

Gazing back down to the tabby on my cast that meowed up at me, demanding more scratches after I stopped for a second. I couldn’t help, but give the little tabby more. Her heavy purrs helping me relax in a way.

“Such a demanding little thing.” Marie said, placing the little plate, and cup down on the wooden coffee table in front of her. Then leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable in it. “Never had that much love from that cat.”

Looking up at the older woman once more. I watched as she relaxed in her chair, her eyes getting drowsy. The sweet apple-like scented tea taking effect on her tired body. Chamomile tea, I recognized.

I wouldn’t blame her if she needed to sleep right now. She stayed up all night to care for me, giving me clothes that I won’t have to steal from an unsuspecting shop keeper. Her hospitality was more… warming? Than the hospitals. There was an actual human in sight. Not any Custodes either. Well, as far as I know.

I could hear her breathing slow down the more she relaxed her muscles. A quiet mumble leaving her lips before she passed out, head dropping.

I waited for a moment. The trickling feeling of being watched coming back. Though, not as strong. Not as intimidating.

Looking back out the windows, I caught another flash. Blink, another flash. Did Miss. Marie have a stalker of her own? A potential thief?

Gently as I could, I lifted the little, purring loaf of fluffiness off my cast and placed her on the ground. Another meow of protest coming from her as I patted her head in reassurance to the little, cuddly creature.

Slowly getting up from my chair, some wounds still fresher than others. I made my way to the sunroom door that led out to the backyard. Carefully stepping over any basking cats, and kittens that lay peacefully in the room.

Another flash went off as I stepped out into the back yard. My head winced to the side, catching a camera peeking out behind an old greenhouse of Maires. So there was someone here.

Walking over to the greenhouse, I pretended to walk inside of it. Opening the door, but not going inside of it.

Quietly rounding the greenhouse instead, I slowly stalked up on the person who thought illegal photography was a good idea. Their camera trained inside of the greenhouse, taking the bait.

A startled yelp came from the person as I grabbed him by the front of their collar, and pushed them up against the greenhouse, a little crack sounding off. Ignoring how my nerves burned again.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” A male voice wheezed, their hands coming up to pull off their hood. Showing a young man with short, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes looking at me. “I’m a journalist!”

I glared at the man, not caring if he was one or not. A journalist was a dead one in my books. They weren’t allowed to have any information. Especially the cocky ones.

“I- I just want your story!” He exclaimed, arrogantly pulling out a pocket notebook, and pen from the front pocket of his jeans.

As far as I’m concerned, there is no story.

Pulling the man back from the greenhouse. I tossed him aside, watching him stumble to upright himself.

“Nope! No story! I got cha!” He rambled, putting the notebook back in his pocket with the pen. Dusting his shoulders off afterward.

“Can I at least get my camera back?” He asked, stepping a little closer as I moved to block the camera that laid on the ground, covered in a layer of dirt.

I kept my eye on the man, almost challenging him to take back his camera. If he is going to take pictures of me, I would at least have the right to keep them.

“Alright, alright. No camera for me.” He said putting up his hands in surrender, backing up little by little before trying to rush forward and grabbing it.

Taking him from the back of his collar, his hands almost touching the camera. I tugged him back harshly, no doubt choking him there for a second. Throwing him back into his place.

His eyes glared up at me, hand coming up to rub at his neck mumbling things under his breath.

“I see how it is.” He huffed out, slowly turning around, and walking back from where he probably came from. Kicking dirt, and rocks on his way, grumbling.

Waiting for his form to disappear, I slowly leaned down to pick up the camera. The soreness coming back and hitting me hard.

Damn, I hope that I didn’t just reopen some of my wounds.

Snap!

That sound had me checking my surroundings, the same heavy unease coming back as I looked for the guy that possibly wanted his camera back. Yet there was nothing. No man to plead for his camera back.

Slowly turning around to head back into the sunroom with the camera in hand. I considered taking some Chamomile tea myself. Maybe that might take off the edge a little bit?

If only I had stayed a little bit longer. I would hear the muffled cries of a man struggling in a stronger hold. Hands desperately hitting against armor of white, and gold before everything went silent with crack.

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 IV

#warhammer 40k #space marine #space marine husbandry sentience #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #inspired #adeptus custodes #yandere or just really protective?? #slowburn???