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peachesofteal · 6 months

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Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths.

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds.

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping.

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.”

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner.

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute.

“Pretty banged up.”

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.”

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else.

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?”

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym.

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm.

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause.

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.”

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more.

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home.

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise.

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not awake.”

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see.

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion.

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.”

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision.

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation.

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go.

She's not wrong.

You need to go to bed.

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him.

Simon asked you stay with him.

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back?

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap?

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all.

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs.

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery.

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return.

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients.

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment.

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh?

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here?

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested.

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath.

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown.

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job.

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck.

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway.

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghoap #soap x ghost #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley

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eileenleahy · 2 years

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the thing is when i first heard about the boys show when it first came out i didnt like it purely because i had a friend really into comic books who hated the boys comic series and made a very good argument as to why but i do know that the show strays from the comics considerably so like. idk

#they were like well the superhero genre is already a subversion of out expectations for ppl with power and thus are superheros supposed to #be a symbol of hope for marginalized ppl etc etc. they phrased it more eloquently with more info and it was a riveting lecture. so i hate th #the boys comics. and seeing white men on tik tok abt the boys comics also riles me against it. i just want a legitimate superhero story yk.#but i see the appeal of the boys television series and given the current state of superhero movies #under the disney monopoly the premise for the boys is much more justifiable

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therand0mwriter · 3 months

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Bare Your Soul

Alastor Hartfelt x Female!Reader

When the Hazbin Hotels second, more appropriate, commercial was interrupted by the news, Alastor decided to air his original, sarcastic, commercial. What no one expected was for the commercial to actually work.

"ɨ… աǟռȶ ȶօ… ɢɛȶ ȶօ ӄռօա ʏօʊ."

"𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽?"

Chapter 1 - The Hazbin Hotel

[Unedited]

[Update 02.08.24 - since I've had a lot of people come to me, pissed about the fact that I made Alastor's last name Altruist (even though I thought it sounded catchy), I changed it to Hartfelt. Yes, I know his last name isn't confirmed yet, but Hartfelt is the closest thing we'll come to a last name.]

[A/N: (h/c)=hair color, (h/l)=hair length, (h/t)=hair type (wavy, straight, curly, etc.)]

[2nd A/N: When I put (s/c) and (e/c) you can do what ever color you want, you're a demon in this story, have fun with it:)]

*3rd Person POV*

Charlie came back from the meeting with Adam and was feeling down on her luck. She had no idea on how to tell everyone that Extermination Day was now sooner than they expected. But when her girlfriend, Vaggie, came bounding up to her and told her that everyone at the hotel had made a new commercial, her heart swelled and her eyes teared up.

Charlie and Vaggie joined the group in the main area to watch the commercial, but was sorely disappointed when it was interrupted by the news announcing that Extermination Day was pushed up by six months.

Alastor, on the other hand, seized the opportunity. "Well, my dear," He started, standing and turning to Charlie. "I could always air my original commercial. Now that the announcement of Hell's newest problem is out of the way, I'm sure it won't be interrupted by anything. I'll even broadcast it from my radio tower!" He ended with a flourish of his staff.

Vaggie then stood, standing in front of Charlie, "Hold on, can't we just re-air the better commercial?" Alastor's already large grin widened, "I'm afraid not, dear. The agreement was to only show it once!" The one-eyed girl let out an 'ugh', face palming. Charlie stood next to Vaggie and begrudgingly started, "Well, I guess that's all we can do. Go ahead, Alastor."

"Wonderful!" The radio demon shouted before disappearing into his shadow. "Maybe it'll convince someone to come here?" Charlie said to Vaggie, a sheepish grin on her face.

*Time Skip, Next Day*

Everyone at the Hazbin Hotel just finished watching Alastor's original commercial, Alastor's grin more joyous than usual, Vaggie's eye was twitching wildly, Charlie was grimacing, and everyone else had looks of surprise. "I really hope nobody saw that." Vaggie commented, distaste clear in her voice.

*Meanwhile*

In a dark room, where the only source of light was the television, sat a lone woman. She watched with wide (e/c) eyes as a commercial out of place from the other ones started to play.

"Well, hello there you wayward sinner! Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do! That's why you're in Hell! But what would you say if I told you there was a place to stay that had none of that? Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer's delusional daughter: Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you! Here, we offer fun things! Such as, somewhat functional staff! And 24 hour pest control. Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor! Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident. Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here."

The woman muted the TV after the commercial ended, still staring with wide eyes as she processed what she just watched. Eventually, she started to giggle. Then that giggling turned into full blow boisterous laughing. She placed her hand on her forehead, shaking her head until she calmed down. Once she did, she let out a tired sigh, her shoulders drooping. "This might be my only chance." The woman said forlornly, turning off the TV, enveloping the room in darkness.

*Time Skip, Next Day*

At the hotel, Charlie was pacing back and forth as her cat, KeeKee, was also pacing with her, swerving in and out of Charlies moving legs. "Okay! So the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year. No big deal! Just a little setback! Nothing we can't handle." At this point in Charlies rambling, KeeKee had run off, most likely finding a place to sleep. Charlie continued her worried rambling, "Just Angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right?! And next time when they cut the time in half again and again, we'll just handle it, right?!"

Vaggie came up to her girlfriend and placed her hands on Charlie's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks and her panicked rant, "Yes, we will." Vaggie sent Charlie a comforting smile, but that smile was gone when Angel spoke up, "Oh, please. Ya had less than half a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit. And now," Angel paused, looking down to his phone to see multiple text messages from his boss, Valentino. "Ain't no silver lining this time, toots."

"Sure there is. We just have to look a little harder for it." Charlie responded, a hopeful smile on her face. "Well, while you're lookin', the rest of Hell is going nuts." Angel stated, turning his phone to Charlie to show multiple news headlines. "People are already freaking out about the news. Look at what's happening in the Doomsday District."

When Charlie leaned forward to look at Angel's phone, a text message popped up. "Uh, what is a 'donkey show'?" She questioned, her red eyes squinted in confusion. Angel's eyes went wide and he quickly brought his phone back to him, "Ah! Eh, nothing! My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone's losing their shit."

"Yeah," Vaggie started. "That's true. Sinners are desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the extermination?" Charlie gasped, a smile growing on her face once more, "This is the prefect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!" She ended, throwing her arms up in the air in excitement. "Cute idea and all, but you really going to go out in all of this?" Angel questioned, turning his phone to the two women to show a fire and demons screaming in fear.

"Well, it's not like people are just going to show up on our doorstep." Charlie said and immediately after a loud explosion sounded, causing the girl to shout in surprise. The three turn to see a hole in the wall next to the bar. They then heard a dramatic voice come from outside, "Show yourself, Alastor! Come and face-" The voice, Sir Pentious, paused, looking from the hole in the wall to the balcony above it from his ship. There, sat Alastor, drinking from a mug that said 'OH DEER' on it. "Oh, there you are. Face my wrath!" Pentious continued. Alastor took a sip from his mug before turning back to the snake demon, "Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who am I? I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!" Said demon boasted as Alastor went into his shadow, moving to stand next to Charlie, Vaggie and Angel who had come outside to see the cause of disturbance. One of Sir Pentious Egg Boi's turned to him, "Woo! You tell 'em, boss."

Niffty had also came out from the hotel, climbing up Alastor's back and gasping with excitement, "Ooo! He's a bad boy." Alastor reached behind him and took ahold of Niffty by her scruff, placing her on the ground, "Huh, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you." Pentious eyes were wide with disbelief, "I attacked you literally last week." The Radio demon tilted his head in confusion, a static hum coming from him. "We've done battle, like... 20 times?" Pentious explained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Well, you must have been really bad at this." Alastor said, a smug tone in his voice.

"Silence! Now cower!" The snake demon shouted. "For when I've slain you, the almighty Vee's will finally acknowledge me as their equal!" Niffty had climbed back onto Alastor's back, gasping in excitement once more. She then paused, "Wait, who are the Vee's?" Alastor waved them off, "Oh, nobody important. Now, let's deal with the nobody in front of us." The Radio demon chuckled darkly, static sounding from him as giant black tentacle came from the ground, wrapping around Sir Pentious ship, shaking it.

One of the tentacles smashed into the cockpit, causing Pentious to shout in fear, "Ahh! Please! Stop!" Alastor chuckled at the sight in front of him, his chuckling turning into manic laughter. "Um, Alastor?" Charlie called out, "I think he's had enough." Angel grinned, "Nah, he's got a few more hits in 'im."

The tentacles tilted the ship to where Pentious fell out of the cockpit and onto the cement with a crack. "Thanks for another forgettable experience." Alastor said, twirling his staff then leaning on it. Pentious slowly lifted one of his arms and slowly spoke, "Thank... you..." He then propped himself up, "For letting your guard down!" He quickly shot his tail out, taking ahold of the corner of Alastor's coat, ripping the edge off. "Haha! Yah!" Pentious shouted with glee, but immediately cowered as Alastor growled with anger, his antlers growing. "Oh, shit!" Pentious said before he was blasted off. He let out a scream of pain as green smoke followed him through the air as he flew.

When Pentious was out of view, Alastor turned to the three behind him, "Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor. Best of luck, chums!" He turned back around, waving goodbye. Vaggie then stepped forward, "Wait, you're leaving? Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job." She stated. Angel added, gesturing to the large hole, "We need a wall." The Radio demon turned back to them, 'Of course! Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?" Alastor snapped his fingers, causing six black and white demons to appear from the ground as he walked away.

Angel giggled, pushing Vaggie out of his way as he made his way up to the largest black and white demon. "Hey, sweet cheeks." Angel started in a sultry tone, leaning one of his four arms on the demons shoulder. "What you doing later? I love me a man with a giant..." Angel pause, looking down at the demons crotch. "Tool." The spider demon finished.

"Um, am I interrupting?" A new voice started. Charlie, Vaggie and Angel look to their left to see a female demon they've never met before. Her hair was (h/l), (h/c) and (h/t), her clear skin was (s/c), and her eyes were a brilliant shade of (e/c). On top of her head was a set of antlers that were decorated in little colorful flowers. The antlers went up and curled into each other, forming the shape of a heart. Also on the top of her head was a set of fluffy (h/c) ears, similar to a deer.

[A/N: Something like this for your antlers. Image does not belong to me.]

"Wow! You look a lot like Alastor!" Charlie said, slightly amazed. The new female raised her eyebrow in confusion, "I'm sorry, who?" Vaggie then stepped in, a cautious tone to her voice, "Um, the Radio demon? You're not related to him, are you?" The new females eyes widened with realization, "Oh! Yes, I've heard of him. Don't worry, we aren't related. Are we that similar?"

Angel went and stood with Charlie and Vaggie, leaving the six black and white demons to do their job. "It's just the antlers and ears y'all got in common." Angel added. The female nodded in understanding and Charlie took a step towards her, a warm smile on her face, "So, what can we help you with?"

"Oh! Yeah!" The she-demons eyes went wide once more, remembering why she was there. She then became nervous, her hold on her suitcase, that the three others just noticed, tightened. "Uh, I saw your guys commercial. About the hotel. And I want to join, if that's okay?" With each word the female spoke, Charlie's grin grew wider and wider until she finally burst.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Charlie jumped up and down in excitement, running forward to take the she-demons hands in hers. "Yes, yes, yes! Of course you can stay here! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! We're going to help you get to Heaven! My names Charlie!" The said demon introduced, vigorously shaking the new females' hands. The blonde then stood next to the new she-demon, gesturing to Vaggie and Angel, "That's Vaggie, my girlfriend! And that's Angel Dust! Our other resident!" The two waved a greeting to the new girl, but before she could return it, Charlie was already pulling her inside.

"Here's our bartender, Husk! And over here we have Niffty! She does our cleaning! Oh! And these are my pets! Razzle, Dazzle and KeeKee! Oh! Let me show you all of the floors, the kitchen, the bathrooms-" Vaggie then stepped in front of Charlie, placing her hands on her girlfriends shoulder, "Charlie! Honey, we don't need to show her everything all at once. Take a breath and let her breath." And Charlie did just that, both her and Vaggie turning back to the new female.

"I'm sorry, during Charlie's excitement, we didn't get your name." Vaggie said, both her and Charlie sending a smile to the new female. The she-demon brushed off her dress, calming down from being pulled here and there. She cleared her throat before straightening her back and bowing her head slightly in a formal greeting, "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), It's an honor to meet you, princess Morningstar. Same with you, Vaggie. I hope I can be a good guest and help you achieve your goals."

Vaggie's eye went wide with surprise at how polite this she-demon was being, the only other person she's met that's this kind was Charlie. It made Vaggie a little suspicious. Charlie, on the other hand, was warmed by the greeting as tears swelled in her eyes. Angel then stepped up to the three women, "Wait, you said you saw a commercial. Which commercial did ya see?" Charlie then gasped, "Wait! You saw our commercial?!" The blonde shouted, shaking with excitement.

(Y/N) nodded, small smile on her lips, "Yes, I thought it was quite entertaining in all honesty." Charlie and Angel were confused while Vaggie squinted, "Wait, why was it entertaining?" (Y/N) gained a nervous sweat, "No offense, but I think my favorite part was about Charlie's daddy issues. I have no idea why you added it, but I liked it." She ended with a shrug. "Oh..." Charlie said dejectedly and Vaggie slapped her hand against her forehead. "Ugh, you saw Alastor's commercial." (Y/N) raised her eyebrow in surprise, "Really? I'll have to give him my compliments when I meet him."

Charlie shook her head and smiled again, placing her hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder, turning her towards the staircase, "Well, (Y/N), let me show you to your room. And please, just call me Charlie." The blonde said, referring to when (Y/N) called her 'princess Morningstar'.

Vaggie watched the two go up the stairs and disappear around the corner, her eye squinting with suspicion. Angel raised his brow at her, "What's with your face?" Vaggie ignored his comment, "How can someone in Hell be that nice? It doesn't make sense. Somethings gotta be up with her." Angel rolled his eyes at her paranoia, going and sitting back on the couch.

*Time Skip*

*(Y/N)'s POV*

It's been around an hour since you've arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie left you alone for the moment to settle into your room. After you finished placing your last piece of clothing away, you sat on your new bed and sighed, rubbing the area where your shoulder and neck connect. 'Charlie sure is energetic.' You thought to yourself.

Just then, you heard static outside your door. You look and see a shadow move from under the gap. As the shadow disappeared, so did the static. 'What was that?' You thought to yourself. You stood and made your way to your door, opening it and peeking your head out. You saw a red figure round the corner, the sound of static following them. You look around for Charlie, Vaggie, or anyone you could ask about the being you briefly saw. But there was no one in the hallway. 'Well, let's hope curiosity doesn't kill the deer...' You meekly thought, leaving your room and following after the red figure.

When you rounded the corner, you didn't see the figure. You then listened for the static, faintly hearing it. You made your way towards the noise, peeking your head around another corner. You then saw a door that was out of place from the other ones. This one was wooden, and had a small window near the top. Then, a light flickered on above the wooden door. You look and see it's an 'ON AIR' sign.

You thought back to when you first got to the hotel. On the outside was what looked to be a broadcasting tower, you just didn't think it was still functional from how it was leaning away from the building. "Salutations! Good to be back on the air!" You then heard a voice that sounded like it was coming from an old-timey radio say. 'Is that Alastor?' You thought, your curiosity growing. 'What does the infamous Radio Demon look like?'

Without thinking, you approached the door and pulled it open to see a metal flight of stairs leading up. "Yes I know it's been awhile since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast, sinners rejoice!" You heard, what you assumed to be, Alastor say. You continued up the stairs, hearing a new voice you didn't recognized. This voice was clear, as if he was speaking to you in person, "What a dated voice!"

When you got to the top, you were met with another door, but this one was left ajar. "Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast!" You heard Alastor say. You peek through the opening of the door and finally laid your eyes on him, The Radio Demon. He had pale skin, red eyes, short red hair that turned black for the last few inches, deer like ears that were larger than mine sat atop of his head, a set of antlers that were smaller than mine also accompanied his ears, and a large, sharp tooth yellow grin.

He wore a red suit and monocle, his bowtie, gloves, pants and shoes being black (accented by red). In his hand was his staff that, what looked to be, an older version of a microphone. "Come on!" The unknown voice shouted. "Is Vox insecure pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?" Alastor responded smugly into his staff, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

"Ignore his chirping!" The second voice, Vox, shouted once more, sounding irritated. "Every day he's got a new format." The Radio Demon added. "You're looking at the future, he's she shit that comes before that!" The TV demon bellowed with a singing tone. Unfortunately for him, his comment didn't bother Alastor one bit. "Is Vox as strong as he purports, or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vee's!" Alastor sang back, his comment causing you to smile in amusement. "Oh, please!" Vox said, not knowing a better comeback.

"And here's the sugar on the cream, he asked me to join his team-" Alastor was interrupted by panicked Vox, "Hold on!" But the Radio Demon continued to sing into his staff, leisurely leaning back in his chair, "I said no and now he's pissy, that's the tea!" You had to cover your mouth to keep the giggle bubbling in your throat from slipping out.

"You old timey prick! I'll show you suf-suffering!" Vox's voice started to glitch. "Uh oh! The TV is buffering!" Alastor teased, propping his head on his hands. "I'll destroy yoo-o-u-u you little-" Before Vox could finish his sentence, he cut out, along with all of the power in Hell. You jumped in surprise at the sudden darkness coming from outside, but also at the fact that the only place that still had power was the broadcasting tower.

"I'm afraid you've lost your signal." Alastor continued, leaning forward, the air in the tower becoming sinister. "Let's begin, I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone." With every word he sang, Alastor's antlers grew along with his malicious grin. "Tune on in. When I'm done," Alastor stood from his seat, his form growing larger and more lanky. The red in his sclera turned pitch black, only his iris staying red. What looked to be red stitching started to appear all over his body and clothes, making him resemble a voodoo doll. "Your status quo will know its race is run," Red liquid started to leak from his mouth. "Oh this will be fun!" Alastor ended with a maniacal laugh, his pupils turning into little radio dials.

'So this is him... The Radio Demon.' You didn't know if you should be scared shitless or amazed by his power. Alastor returned to his normal form, taking a sip of his tea. He then suddenly spoke up, "Are you going to join me or just keep watching me from the shadows?" Alastor turned to the door, and I instantly knew he was talking to me. 'He's a powerful demon, of course he noticed me.' You thought, mentally face palming. You noted that he still sounded like he was speaking through a radio. 'How strange, but fitting for the Radio Demon.' You pushed the door open and stepped in, "I apologize, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

*3rd Person POV*

"I apologize, I didn't mean to eavesdrop." When the she-demon stepped in, Alastor paused, taking in her looks. (H/l) (h/c) hair, (s/c) skin, (e/c) eyes, deer ears, and antlers in the shape of a heart with flowers. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that stopped mid-thigh, with small black buttons on the top of the dress, along with a thin black bowtie that sat above her exposed chest (but of course not exposing anything indecent). She also wore white tights, covering the skin on her legs. On her feet were black Mary Jane heels that completed her outfit. 'How strange,' Alastor thought. 'She doesn't look half bad.'

[A/N: Something like this for your dress. Image does not belong to me.]

Alastor stood and made his way to the girl, "It is no problem, my dear! I broadcasted it for all of Hell to hear. Did you at least enjoy it?" He then twirled his staff in a flashy manner. The she-demon nodded, a small smile adorning her (thin/plump) lips, "Yes, I thought it was entertaining." Alastor's never-leaving smile widened at her words and he straightened his coat, "The names Alastor! Alastor Hartfelt! And who do I have the pleasure of being in the presence of?" He held out his hand to her, bending his body slightly to meet her height.

She stared at his hand, then back up to meet his eyes. Alastor tilted his head at her hesitancy. She started to stutter, embarrassed when she realized she had been staring, "S-Sorry, it's just that your eyes are much brighter up close." Before Alastor could respond or even think about her comment, she took ahold of his hand, shaking it. "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it's an honor to meet you. I am the newest resident of the Hazbin Hotel." She said, slightly bowing her head in respect.

Before she could take her hand back, Alastor brought it up to her lips, leaving a kiss on her knuckles, "Please, dear! The pleasure is all mine!" When he let go of her hand, (Y/N) placed both of her hands behind her back, out of sight to Alastor as she rubbed her knuckles. Alastor discreetly pursed his smiling lips afterwards, both of the demons thinking: 'Why did that burn?'

"So," Alastor started, tilting his head again. "You're the newest resident? How did you come about the hotel?" To his surprise, she started to chuckle. "I actually saw your commercial, and I have to say, I found it quite hilarious." She giggled, placing her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter at bay. Both Alastor's eyes and smile widened with glee, "That was the goal, dear! I'm so glad you liked it! But I have to say, I am surprised it made you want to come here."

At his words, (Y/N)'s laughter halted. Alastor took note of her mood change. "Yes, well, you did say in your commercial that this was a path to redemption. Even if it is misguided," She let out a soft chuckle at the memory. "I want to get into Heaven." Alastor hummed, "Why do you want to go to Heaven?" (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it. She thought for a moment, a mental battle clear on her face. Eventually, she gave Alastor a strained smile, "Personal reasons."

Alastor hummed again, 'Interesting...' He thought. "Very well!" Alastor started, twirling his staff once more. He then moved to the door, holding it open. "Shall we? I'm sure Charlie hasn't finished giving you the tour yet. We don't want her to be disappointed at your sudden absence." (Y/N)'s (e/c) eyes widened and she took quick steps to the door, "Ah, you're right! It's rude to be late!"

As (Y/N) made her way down the stairs, she missed the way Alastor looked at her. His head was tilted and his eyes were squinted. 'What an anomaly.' He thought right before following her.

*Time Skip*

Charlie had just finished giving (Y/N) the full tour of the hotel, with Alastor accompanying them and making little sarcastic remarks here and there, making (Y/N) chuckle (much to Charlie's dismay). "Well, what d'ya think!?" Charlie asked, grin large and holding her arms out wide, gesturing to the hotel. (Y/N) nodded, small smile on her lips, "It's nice." At her words, the blonde squealed, "Ah! I'm so glad you like it!" She then took ahold of (Y/N)'s hands in hers, "Trust me, (Y/N)! I'll do everything in my power to get you redeemed and into Heaven!"

Alastor took in the doe demons expression and could easily tell she was uncomfortable at her personal space being invaded. But, she continued to smile. "Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate your effort." She said, making the princess jumped in happiness.

Just then, Charlie's phone went off with a notification. She looked at the message and gained a mischievous grin. "Oh, (Y/N)!" Charlie said in a sing-song tone, "There's something waiting for you in the foyer!" The blonde started to make her way, skipping in excitement while Alastor and (Y/N) followed behind at a leisurely pace.

The doe demon sighed, but smiled nonetheless, "It's a welcoming party, isn't it?" Alastor looked to her through the corner of his eye, seeing her looking straight ahead at Charlie with a tired fondness. "How could you tell?" Alastor asked, already knowing the answer. (Y/N) softly chuckled, "Charlie is easy to read." The Radio Demon found this interesting. Then a question formed in his mind. He needed to gather more intel on this strange being. "Am I easy to read?"

Finally, (Y/N) looked up at him through her (long/short) lashes, her lips still holding that small smile, "No, you're an anomaly."

Alastor halted in his steps, staring at the doe demons figure as she got smaller and smaller, still following Charlie. When both of their figures disappeared around the corner, Alastor felt like he could finally breath. Multiple thoughts ran through his, now panicked, mind.

'Who is she?'

'Why is she here?'

'Can she read my mind?'

'She has to be fucking with me.'

'There has to be more to her.'

'She must be playing dumb.'

"Alastor? Are you still joining us?" The male snapped his head up to see just the person he was freaking out about. (Y/N) had stepped back around the corner, her eyebrow raised in question. 'Well you know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer...' Alastor thought before disappearing into his shadow just to reappear next to the girl, making her jump in surprise. "Of course, dear! I apologize if I kept you waiting." (Y/N) smiled in response, "It's alright. No need to apologize."

The two then finished the walk to the foyer in silence, being greeted by a loud 'Surprise!' when they made it to their destination. There was a large banner that said: 'Welcome (Y/N)!' in different colored paint, the bar was decorated in hearts, there was a table full of food and the center pieces were bouquets of wild flowers, on a different table were various card and board games, and next to the couch was a... karaoke machine.

Alastor noticed how (Y/N)'s shoulders dropped when she laid eyes on the singing machine. He leaned down to her height, "What's the matter, dear? Don't like to sing?" (Y/N) shook her head, "No, not really. I don't sing." There was another thing Alastor found interesting about her. Every one in Hell sang, even him.

Charlie came bounding up to both of the deer demons, "So, (Y/N)! It's your party! What would you like to do first?" The girl looked around and noticed everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her response. "U-Um, why don't you guys get a game of cards started while I go get a drink?" Charlie smiled and nodded, her, Vaggie and Angel heading to the game table. (Y/N) made her way to the bar and Alastor watched her every move.

"What will ya have?" Husk questioned, his tone bored. "Do you have any wine or whiskey?" (Y/N) asked, taking a seat. "No to the wine, and for the whiskey, we only have the cheap stuff." Husk responded, gesturing to the bottles behind him. "Oh," (Y/N) hummed, thinking about what else she should order.

Alastor disappeared into his shadow, reappearing next to the doe demon, making her jump in surprise once more. "I believe I might be able to help you!" Alastor said. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a bottle of whiskey from his personal stash that was already 1/4th gone. (Y/N) squinted her eyes to read the label, and when she saw what it was, her eyes went as wide as saucers. "No way!" She started, looking from the bottle to Alastor. "Macallan 1926?! How did you get that?!" Alastor chuckled, pleased at how she knew how valuable the alcohol was, "I have my ways, darling. I only bring this out for special occasions, so consider this a welcoming gift, from me to you."

[A/N: Fun fact, a bottle of Macallan 1926 is worth over two million dollars.]

When Alastor reached behind the bar and took two brandy glasses, Husk took that as his que to leave, taking a bottle of the cheap whiskey and joining the others. Alastor filled the glasses a third of the way, gently sliding one over to (Y/N). She looked at it with furrowed brows, turning her gaze to Alastor, "Are you sure I can have this?" The Radio Demon tilted his head in confusion, "Do you not want it?"

(Y/N) vigorously shook her head, not wanting to offend the male. "No! Of course I do... It's just, I don't feel like I'm worth it..." She ended her sentence, playing with the base of the glass in a nervous habit. Alastor's head stayed tilted, wondering what the girl had done to make herself feel too guilty to accept a drink. Alastor then straightened up, taking his glass in his empty hand, "Well, believe it or not, I think you're worth it. If I didn't, I wouldn't be offering you this drink now, would I?" He ended with a laugh. (Y/N) looked up at him with wide doe eyes, surprised at the Radio Demon's kind words. She gave him a genuine smile, "Thank you, I appreciate it, Alastor."

Something ticked inside of the males mind at finally seeing a smile that reached the doe demons (e/c) eyes and how his name sounded coming from her voice. 'How strange,' He thought. 'I'll dissect that later.' Alastor went and stood next to the girl, offering her his left arm, "Shall we? Everyone is waiting for us." (Y/N) kept her smile, standing and linking her right arm with Alastor's, her drink in her left hand, "We shall."

[A/N: let me know if I missed changing any 'Alruist' to 'Hartfelt']

#x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x female reader #alastor #alastor x reader #bare your soul fanfic #alastor hartfelt #alastor hartfelt x reader

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months

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Television loves to tell you all about giant robots. They're cool! They fight in the middle of cities! They're our only hope against alien invaders. Let me tell you that giant robots are not all they're cracked up to be.

First, there's the size. In your life, when has "making something bigger" resulted in a net positive outcome? Giant robots consume a remarkable amount of fuel, they're harder to park, and statistically you will step on about 1.22 people every time you take it out for a ride. Sure, that number is offset every time you save humanity from the Globthorians, but let's be honest with ourselves: you are not driving the giant robot exclusively to wage heroic interstellar war. Sometimes you're heading down to the liquor store and end up pressure-washing a pet salon off your 10-foot-wide boot before the rivets rust.

Beyond the practical concerns, it is a bad look for only the well-heeled depressed teenagers to be piloting these suckers. Children with emotionally distant fathers and a confusing puberty are found in all socioeconomic strata, but a recent study showed that only the super-rich and well-connected are ever "chosen" for their "merit" as potential robot pilots. Maybe someone with a little more empathy would do a better job. We have to raise the question here: are we promoting equal access to giant robots, or is this merely another stage for the rich to get richer?

Last, there are some economic concerns to speak about. Giant robots, owing again to their massive size, cost an absolute shitload of money to build. We can't afford that stuff these days, what with being at war with the Globthorians and all. I suggest instead that we spend the money we would waste on a single giant robot on several hundred regular-sized robots. While the military's own accountability office and the defence contractors' lobbyists will tell you that this just encourages more waste with overhead per robot, let's not forget who are the assholes who decided to build a giant robot and then try to find an alien civilization to provoke in order to "see how it works out." It worked out badly, folks!

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kronoscythe · 3 months

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this is the first season, their first quest, they should make a lot of mistakes but the show aims at a perfect portrayal where the 12 year old kids are never tricked by millenia old creatures. "well annabeth is so smart it wouldn't make sense if she didn't figure it out!" if we get season three maybe annabeth will know better than to fall of a cliff since she's a daughter of athena. riveting television i tell you. cinemasins ass logic

#procrustes scene next episode i'm praying for you girl #<- LMFAOOO i wrote this before the episode i didn't know they would fuck this up so bad #i am just amazed. who thought this was a good idea. an improvement over the original #pjo show #pjo show crit

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captain-noir · 1 year

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every time i think about how messed up the vampire bonds/families are i go a little insane. louis and claudia are siblings because lestats their father but lestats also louis husband so claudia’s louis child too but then gabrielle’s lestat’s actual mother and also his daughter so that means louis is gabrielle’s son in law and also her brother and all the children are psychically linked so when lestat’s railing his husband/son louis, his sister/daughter and mother/daughter can hear it all if louis doesnt put up a block which he sometimes canonically doesnt per ep 6. riveting television is back!

#yaz has thoughts #loustat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #claudia de lioncourt #gabrielle de lioncourt #i havent even gone into lestat being a freudian nightmare and considering gabby his lover or the blurred boundaries of claudia and louis #family of all time #the pointe du lac de lioncourts #rolin jones has balls of steel for doing this in 2023 #i wanna kiss him #this is my final post of the day #it always comes back to ince-[signal lost]

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syddsatyrn · 2 months

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Je t'aime Violet

By Sydd Satyrn Chapter 1 ⛧ Chapter 2 ⛧ Chapter 3 Masterlist

⛧Pairing: - Alastor x OC!Reader Violet

⛧Warnings: Drinking, smoking, swearing, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, eventually smut, adult themes, 18+ not for minors

⛧Words: 1.8k ⛧Fic playlist: Click here!

⛧Summary: Hello ladies, gentleman and nonbinary friends! I present to you, my series Je t'aime Violet. This story is staring my OC, Violet! She is a deer demon containing a lot of personality. With a gifted voice and a bit of jazz, she's got style and class on lock. After 7 years, Violet and Alastor's feelings towards each other never dissolved. Violet reconnects with the man who left with her heart, will she forgive him? Does Alastor have the ability to set his pride aside for love?

⛧Notes: @hellfiremunsonn is a total babe for being my beta reader.

⛧Chapter 1: Rye Whiskey The door slams shut behind you and you let out a sigh of relief, another show is finally over. After taking a seat in front of your vanity, you turn on the small television in your dressing room. You’ve been on tour for the past year and a half, playing at different venues, private events, and more. Today was the final show and you gave it all you had, the crowd seemed pleased. Even though you almost collapsed at the end of the performance, everything worked out in your favor. It's getting late so you pour yourself a glass of whiskey and take a sip. Being a Jazz singer isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure the fame and free drinks are nice, but the men are pigs. Just because you dance around in skimpy clothes and sing love songs doesn't mean you’re going to go home with whoever flashes a stack of cash your way. Suddenly a familiar voice shakes you from your thoughts. An odd commercial plays on the TV and you almost spit out your drink. Your soft ears perk up and twitch and your tail flicks from side to side. “Do you like blood, violence, and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course, you do! That's why you’re in hell! But what would you say if I told you there was a place to stay that had none of that? Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer’s delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar. Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you! Here we offer fun things such as…Somewhat functional staff and 24-hour pest control! Custom rooms and just look at this parlor! Enjoy a Riveting conversation with our singular resident! Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here!” That voice is unmistakable, but part of you can’t believe it’s true. Has Alastor really come back? Is he staying at this strange hotel? So many unanswered questions. You had a history with the infamous Radio Demon. A past you thought would never see the light of day. It was long before you found your passion for music, in a time when you thought nothing would make you happy.

Alastor used to be your beau once upon a time. You both used to be so undoubtedly in love with each other. He used to sweep you off your feet and make you feel like the most beautiful thing in all of Hell. But that was a long time ago, and Alastor might not be the same guy you used to know, seven years is enough time to change a person. He was the one who broke it off, stating that he had some business to deal with. He was vague and aloof, he said he couldn’t stick around and keep you, that it would be unfair of him to make you wait. You told him it didn't matter to you, that you would wait for his return. He told you that he might not return at all, kissed your hand, and left you there in the rain.

You finished off the last of your drink, there was no way you could stay in the dressing room tonight. If there was even the slightest chance that you could see Alastor again you had to go. So you changed out of your stage clothes into a black dress, one that hugs your curves rather nicely. You put on a pair of knee high boots and your black lapel. After deciding to keep the pearl necklace and earrings on, you check your makeup in the mirror and grab your duffle bag before leaving your dressing room. The streets of Pentagram City were alive with debauchery and sin. Sinners were partying, gambling, and fucking their cares away. With a lit cigarette between your lips you walk for a while, heels clacking against the sidewalk. Your eyes scan the billboards, hoping to find any sign of the hotel. A few ads pop up for a porn studio where your dear friend works. She used to sing with you until she decided to get into the adult entertainment business. You don’t mind, as long as she's happy, then so are you.

Your train of thought is derailed when the image changes on the billboard. It now shows the Hazbin Hotel with a very familiar face standing outside, holding a sign and smiling brightly. Your eyes widen and you feel a tightening sensation in your chest, that smile. You had seen it countless times in the past, that charming, dashing smile.

The billboard changes once again and a phone number flashes on the screen. You reach into your pocket and grab your cell phone. Dialing the number, you take a drag from your cigarette and hold the phone to your ear. After a few rings, a woman picks up and greets you. “Hello! Hazbin Hotel, How can I help you?” She is so cheerful it's almost disgusting. “Hi there. I was wondering if you had rooms available?” There's a short pause and some shuffling on the other line, the woman speaks again. "Oh my goodness! Yes, we have plenty of rooms available!"

You take another drag from your cigarette and speak again, "Can I check-in tonight? I'm actually in the city and-"

"Oh my, yes of course! Let me get you the address.”

"Great, thank you." You reply. The cheerful woman gives you the address and you end the call. You take one last puff off your cigarette and stomp it out. With the location committed to memory, you make your way to the hotel.

The hotel is quite large, standing out against the dim and drab streets. A smile spreads across your face and you walk up the steps. The moment you open the door a small woman dressed in a maids uniform greets you.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! I'm Nifty! And you must be a new guest!" She looks a bit disheveled and her eyes are wide. “Hello there Nifty,” You bend down and get on her level and smile at her. “My name is Violet. It's a pleasure to meet you, dear.” She squeals and grabs your hand, practically dragging you inside. Nifty points to the bar and introduces Husker the bartender as a “grumpy kitty”. You nod your head in agreement and follow her through the lobby. You walk up to the bar and give Husker a big smile. He grunts at you but returns your smile nonetheless. Nifty pulls out a stool and you set your bag down and take a seat. “I’m going to go find Charlie for you, I’ll be right back!” Nifty exclaims as she runs off towards the elevator. You watch as the elevator doors close behind her. “What'll it be, Miss?” Husker asks in a gruff voice. He notices you have the same kind of features as Alastor, fluffy deer ears, a tail, and a toothy grin. “Rye whiskey, on the rocks if you have it.” You ask and Husker turns around to make it for you. Oddly enough you drink the same kind of Liquor as Alastor too. Just as Husker slides the drink over to you, the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor catches your attention. You glance up and there she is—Charlie. The woman who now owns and runs this peculiar establishment. Her smile is warm and welcoming as she approaches you, her red curls bouncing with every step. “Violet, I presume?” she says, extending a hand towards you. You take it, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “That's me,” you reply with a soft smile. “It's quite a place you have here.” Charlie's eyes twinkle with pride as she looks around the bustling lobby. “Thank you! We do our best to make everyone feel welcome and offer a chance at redemption.” You can't help but admire her determination and genuine desire to help others. “You mentioned having a room available?” You ask and take a sip of your drink. “Oh yes! Here, take this.” She says and hands you a key. “You’re on the third floor, room 103. We can talk more tomorrow, it's getting late and I’m sure you would like to turn in for the night.” You thank Charlie, Nifty and Husk before making your way to the elevator. The ride up to the third floor is smooth, and as the doors open, you're greeted by a quiet hallway lined with ornate wallpaper and dimly lit lamps. Room 103 is at the end of the hallway, and you feel a mix of nerves and excitement as you approach the door. The key slides in easily, and with a click, the door opens to reveal a cozy room with a large bed, plush armchair, and a window overlooking the city below. Dropping your coat and duffle bag on a nearby chair, you take in the room's atmosphere before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The events of the evening whirl through your mind - Alastor's unexpected return, the allure of the Hazbin Hotel, and now being here in this room that feels both familiar and new. But for now, all you can think about is going to bed. You put on a pair of small black shorts and a large t-shirt. After you hit the lights and crawl under the covers, it doesn't take long for you to drift off to sleep.

While you sleep, a shadow appears in the room, a silhouette of a man with a sinister smile spreading across his face. The shadow moves closer to the bed, the figure illuminated by the dim moon light filtering in from the window. A shiver runs down your spine as you sense a presence in the room, causing you to slowly awaken from your slumber. Your eyes flutter open and the shadow flees, you only catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye. You look around the room and you feel like someone is watching you, but there is no one here but you. You let out a sigh and try to go back to sleep, you must be seeing things.

As you try to shake off the eerie feeling, you hear a faint whisper in the darkness. Your heart races as you strain to make out the words being murmured. "Violet..." The voice is deep and sends a chill down your spine. You sit up in bed, your eyes wide with fear. "Who's there?" you manage to croak out, your voice barely above a whisper. There is no response, only the sound of your own ragged breathing filling the room. The voice sounded just like an old radio, you know he is calling you. But you’re not going to chase him, if he wants to talk to you, he knows exactly where to find you. So with that, you roll over and try your best to go back to sleep, despite the fact that you are being watched.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #eddie munson x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin #alastor radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor smut

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doomsday-dj · 26 days

Note

Alright i'll bite...

Can u share your top 3 reasons why you chose Rizzles for your fanfics??

I don’t think I can stress enough how much I did not choose Rizzoli & Isles.

This is not like an “I didn’t choose the thug life, the thug life chose me” thing except it kind of is. I am Rizzles Tupac. But seriously if you go back to like July of last year, before I started watching this show, I had never even CONSIDERED writing fan fiction. I did not write for fun. I did not think about writing for fun. Writing was completely not on my radar.

I have what I call my kitchen shows which I put on when I’m making dinner or doing the dishes. The key with these shows is that they’re not supposed to be very good. I had tried to do it with Bosch but that show was actually too riveting so I put on Rizzoli & Isles one day in search of a dumber procedural.

And then suddenly I was fucking hooked? And secretly started writing fan fiction? I was like midway through the third season when I started AGVK. True story I took my wife out for a date night and after a couple of margaritas and a beer I was like “I have something to tell you, I’m embarrassed but I can’t keep it from you any longer” and she probably thought I committed a crime or was having an affair for a second.

ANYWAY. This show really snuck up on me. I truly cannot believe how much of my waking life is spent thinking about a fictional cop.

But I do want to answer your question so I will tell you the top three reasons why I’m STILL writing Rizzles fanfics:

1) there is just so much to work with and so little to get in the way of it. They spend all their time together and have barely any men in their lives and that’s just so good. Like I don’t think there’s another non-canon wlw ship where they’re more married. Supercorp is so popular but I’m watching that show right now and had to go through SO MANY EPISODES where they didn’t even interact. I think OUAT has them interacting plenty but there’s more forcing them into romances with men? Idk I haven’t watched it. But Rizzles is just…they’re each other’s entire world. It’s great.

2) we are so starved for butch representation on television that literal super model and girly girl ANGIE HARMON walking manishly is among the best I can get. I cannot believe how gayly she landed this character, it baffles me every time I watch.

3) They’re both just so hot. Sasha Alexander couldn’t be more my type. Every time they put her in a sheath dress and a pair of nude stilettos I practically fall to my knees.

Bonus 4th reason: the Rizzles fandom is small but so friendly and lovely and receptive. I have a couple Supercorp fics planned and I know that fandom is way way way bigger and I’m excited to see what kind of reception my writing might get over there but I know it’s not gonna be as cozy as this little community we have.

As always, I hope you were looking for an EXTREMELY in-depth answer! Thanks for the ask.

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles #fanfic talk #ask doomsday #for the record I hate cops #thinking this much about a pathologist makes sense because I grew up on the x-files

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vashtijoy · 5 months

Text

fic excerpt: goro and his mother

I keep needing to refer to this one, so here it is. WARNINGS for childhood abuse (poor, poor Mamakechi is not at her best here).

* * *

The summer Goro turns six, his mother packs their few things into plastic laundry bags, and she ties up their futon and quilt with string, and the two of them leave their single room in Shinjuku for a single room some way to the east, in a place called Yoshiwara. Asakusa and the huge red lantern of Senso-ji Temple are nearby to the south, but Goro and his mother don’t live anywhere so rarefied.

The other rooms in the house hold students, casual workers, foreigners. Goro peeps out of their door to talk to them all. Some ignore him, and he ignores them in return. Others are nice—the older boy who lends him manga, the girl who gives him sweets and ties ribbons in his hair, the foreigners whose words he only sometimes understands. And then there’s the old lady who lives on the top floor by herself.

Her name is Migata-san. She has her own kitchen and her own bathroom, when the rest of them have to share, just like in Goro’s old home. She wears a puffy, quilted vest all the time, and sits in front of her TV. Goro doesn’t have a TV any more; in the winter his mother took it away and it never came back. And since the landlord—who is strident and impatient and everything Migata-san is not—shouts at him when he sees him, Goro often finds himself creeping straight upstairs to Migata-san’s tiny apartment.

His mother leaves him there every afternoon anyway. He reads anything he can find, or takes his borrowed manga, or he sits in front of the TV, and Migata-san feeds him riceballs and cake. The TV rotates through daytime dramas, talk shows, adverts and news, but when something good comes on, Migata-san will let him watch it. Fly, Feather Swan! No, Grey Pigeon, I won’t forgive you!

“I could do that,” he tells Migata-san, watching the Feathermen fly about against a painted-looking stormy sky, and she laughs at Goro while he scowls.

“Oh, no,” she tells him, in the stupid grown-up voice. “Those things only happen on television. How about some milk?”

He accepts the milk, still sulking. But he doesn’t drop the idea.

* * *

When his mother finally comes home in the evenings, she’s tired and seems sick; things aren’t like they used to be. Instead of talking to him while she makes soup and rice over a tiny electric ring, she brings frozen boxes from the konbini and puts them in the microwave. They eat side by side in silence, sitting on the rolled futon.

Goro eats his frozen curry steadily, glancing sideways to his mother. She’s picking at her food like she doesn’t want it. “Why are you sad?” he dares to ask, afraid of upsetting her.

His mother doesn’t look at him. “I’m not sad, Goro-chan. Eat your food.”

He looks back to his bowl. The curry is bright orange. He picks some into his mouth: little red chopsticks, with the rubber grip holding them together. It tastes of a lot, but he doesn’t complain, not when she’s sad.

Are we going home soon? He can’t ask her that, either. He tries to think of something to tell her, making his slow way through his curry. Nothing that will make her lonely. Nothing that will make her cry. Nothing that will make her—

“I’m going to be a superhero,” he says brightly.

She glances to him. She looks right into his eyes and she smiles. “Is that what you’ve been doing today?”

“Mm-hm,” he tells her, riveted to that tiny, flickering smile. “Then you won’t have to work all the time, right? I’ll do everything. I’ll look after you and I’ll fight evil”—sharp eyes staring from a soapbox, a face he used to point out on the TV before the TV vanished, a name he still remembers with a child’s fascination—“and I’ll keep you safe for always, and I’ll always win!”

He runs out of breath and laughs, caught up in the brilliant future he’s painting for her, that he more than half believes in. He only remembers the point of it all when she laughs too, leaning back against the wall. “My little hero,” she tells him. And, still as if she’s terribly tired, she reaches for Goro’s blanket—a new, soft, blue blanket, small enough for him to wear around his shoulders, one of the new things that has made its way into their room.

She removes the brooch pinned at her collar, a glittering snowflake left from their old life, and she pins the blanket around his neck, folding the excess down into a collar. One thin hand gentles his hair aside, strokes his face; he presses against her like a kitten, and she lifts his bowl from his suddenly precarious lap.

Goro feels her happiness like his own. “There,” she says, glowing. “Now you have a cape.”

He beams at her. “Is it a bird cape? I want to be a bird superhero. Like Feather Hawk.”

“Ah, that depends,” his mother says, taking his chopsticks and propelling some curry into his mouth. “Can you fly?”

Goro opens his mouth to reply, and she closes it with her free hand; that’s another thing that’s new. He chews dutifully and swallows. “Of course I can fly,” he dictates. “All the Feathermen can fly.”

“Are you sure?” she asks him. “Maybe you aren’t as good as Feather Hawk, hm?” And then she pops another scoop of curry into his mouth, so he can’t even protest, other than through closed lips; she laughs and kisses him on top of his head.

“I am as good as Feather Hawk,” he informs her when he can talk. “I’m better.”

“Of course you are,” she tells him, with another kiss, feeding him the last of his curry. Her own bowl lies half-full beside her. “You’re my little boy. And you’re going to save the world.”

* * *

After that, Goro plays hero a lot. He wraps himself in his blanket cape and shouts Feather Wing Star Formation!, until the landlord knocks on the door. His mother sleeps all morning, while Goro reads the manga she brings him herself now, and she vanishes to work in the afternoon, when Goro goes upstairs to Migata-san; upstairs to wonder where his mother is, why he can’t stay alone in their room when she works any more, like he always did.

One morning, while his mother is dead asleep, Goro finishes his manga and looks around for something else to read, eventually pulling his mother’s glossy magazine from the table. He isn’t supposed to read it, for reasons that to him seem wholly arbitrary, so he’s careful to leaf through the pages as quietly as he can.

The magazine is creased and old-looking like his manga, and full of tiny text, much of which Goro cannot understand. So he guesses the words he doesn’t know: stories about fashion models and clothes and makeup and dragons, although something tells him he’s read “dragons” wrong. The whole thing smells like his mother. At least—it smells like his mother used to smell, like her perfume. These days she just smells of soap and sweat.

She doesn’t send Goro out by himself at night any more, either. That’s probably good, he thinks uncertainly; it was scary to run down the back alleys by himself, scarier to hide behind the bins so the police wouldn’t see him. But he misses the bathhouse. He misses Boss, who'd let Goro sit up front as his assistant, who’d set out piles of coins for him to count and watched him in the bath.

Looking down unhappily, he spies a piece of paper poking out from under the unrolled futon.

Part-curious, and very bored, he gives it a tug. It moves. Another, more careful tug, and the paper is in his hand. It’s a letter in his mother’s writing. A date, on the left—he knows from Migata-san’s TV that it’s yesterday’s—and a name, lots of big kanji, he can’t begin to make them out. But he sees his mother’s name right next to it, Akechi Mari, half of his own name right next to her loopy kana. At the top, there’s something about frost, and then the writing gets much worse—fortunately most of it is still kana.

The letter talks to somebody called Masa-sama. She talks about their room, he thinks, and about her job; she makes them sound bad. We have no money, he reads, over and over. Goro is a beautiful boy. He’s obedient and clever. Any man would be proud to call him his son. He reaches out, with one tentative hand, to touch those words.

The letter has been crumpled into a ball, and then unfolded; he tries to flatten it, with careful strokes of his baby hands. He reads it again, and again, and again. Any man would be proud to call him his son.

He has no idea his mother is awake. Not until a hard hand grabs his shoulder and shakes him, tearing the letter from him. “Give me that!” his mother yells as she hits him, right around his head, hard against his ear with the flat of her hand. Goro screams and falls to the floor, clutching the side of his head, and as he dissolves into tears and confusion he sees his mother crying too, tearing the letter like a typhoon, smaller and smaller and smaller pieces that she throws and screams at and hurls into the bin.

* * *

Before long, Migata-san comes downstairs, and she knocks on the door, and without a word she takes Goro upstairs, still sobbing, while his mother sobs in a heap on their floor. He sits on his usual cushion, still hiccuping sobs, as Migata-san clucks to him and washes his face and hands.

“There we are,” she says, beady eyes like a bird. “How about some hot milk? And a cake?” Goro nods his head yes, not meeting her eye.

He’s clever. You’d be proud of him. Was that letter to his father?

Your father is a monster! he remembers her shouting, back at the old room when he was small. She had hit him then, too.

Why is his mother writing to a monster? When even talking about him makes her so upset she cries and she hits Goro? They must be in terrible trouble. Is that why she’s asking Goro’s father for money?

… has his father got money?

Goro doesn’t realise that he and his mother are poor. But he knows they aren’t rich, that his mother works every day, works so hard she sleeps all the time and has no time for him. He adds it to his picture of his father: a monster, a rich man. A man who’s somewhere else when he should be with Goro and his mother. A man his mother calls Masa-sama, like he’s a king.

And that evening, when he’s finally home, when his mother is in the toilet and not coming out, he sneaks the fragments of paper with his father’s name out of the bin.

#persona 5 #things i write #goro akechi #mamakechi #masayoshi shido

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subtly-a-selkie · 2 years

Note

I think I and lots of other people would really appreciate a part two of the Tadashi story? Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Here you go!! Sorry for the delay there was a slight dilemma on what perspective to put it in but i did my best! You can always request a specific perspective when you request if you prefer a different one. Everyone who showed any interest in a part two was tagged so please let me know if you would prefer not to be.

Word Count: 1800 ish (whoops)

Warnings: grammatical errors and weird formatting (even though it was written on my phone the formatting shouldn’t be that bad) slight angst (?) posted/written late at night so possible weird phrases

You fumble with the remote, switching through the channels in search of something--anything interesting. Anything that wasn't what was previously on to be honest, lately all the news could talk about was the fire and the loss of Professor Callaghan and student Tadashi Hamada. You did not want to think about that thank you very much. Finally settling on a news report about six new superheroes of all things, you go back to what you were doing which was giving the kitchen a much needed scrubbing.

After the news of Tadashi's death you shut down, not even managing to go to his funeral. Looking back on it now you figured that was for the best considering you hadn't yet been introduced to his aunt and little brother. Shaking yourself out of those thoughts before it became too much you aggressively scrub at the counter attempting to remove the crust that adorned it. Luckily for your sanity the kitchen was the last room to clean.

"Ew." you say to no one in particular, except maybe the cat that was making it increasingly difficult to clean the kitchen. The news story finished and switched to something else, and although it wasn't what the news had been obsessing over it did hit a little too close to home. You switch off the television and resume cleaning in a almost stifling silence, left alone with your thoughts and a very unhelpful cat.

Your house was so clean you could practically see little sparkles like the ones in cartoons and all you had to do is hang back up the pictures. You had an assortment of photos, a few of your cat as a kitten, some of your family and friends, and some of Tadashi. Some of the photos of Tadashi included you and some were just him. You even had one of him, his aunt and his brother. You debated putting that one back up as it was slightly weird to have a photo of people you had never met. Tadashi was the one who had put it up in the first place. Your riveting debate with yourself is cut short by the doorbell and you place the photo with the rest.

You open the door and your eyes go wide with shock, although you had never met Hiro in person you certainly recognized him from the pictures and videos Tadashi would show you.

“Are you Y/N?”

“Oh! Uh yes… please come in Hiro.” You stumble over your words, mind rushing with questions on why he was here. Your eyes widen even further on seeing the giant marshmallow of a robot behind him.

“Baymax?” You realize that you are blocking the both of them from entering and quickly move aside, fingers worrying at the small necklace Tadashi had gifted you. “Oh! Sorry. Uhm. I didn’t expect you.”

“Baymax showed me the videos you and Tadashi had made.” Hiro replies gently picking up one of the photos of you and Tadashi that you had already put back. You both smiled at the camera, eyes lit up by the sun. Your nose was scrunched and your arms thrown around him and his hair was ruffled from the breeze.

“You were his girlfriend?” Hiro asks quietly.

“I was.” You pause and glance at him still holding the photo “That picture was taken at the beach, he loved to take me there.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” He asks more to himself than you. You could tell he was struggling with thoughts about his brother lying to him.

“He was going to tell you after you got into SFIT.” You say, your voice cracking. “I thought that you were having a hard enough time without having to deal with making room in your family for me.”

“Tadashi was reluctant to agree with your choice.” Baymax says causing you to startle, you had almost forgotten that he was there.

His torso began to light up and you and Tadashi come into view.

“Hiro was at another bot fight last night.” Tadashi said working on what seemed to be one of Baymax’s arms.

“I could tell.” You laughed gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You fix Baymax a lot more aggressively when he does.” The two of you stayed like that for a bit before you spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it Dashi?” You moved your hands forward, clasping them together and leaning against his back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He put the tools down and turned towards you so you were standing between his legs, kissing your cheek in return.

“I’m worried for him you know? i can’t protect him forever and once he gets older there will be real consequences for his actions.”

“He graduated high school at thirteen. He wants to keep learning and be challenged and bot fighting is what’s scratching that itch.” You smiled fondly “I remember you being the same way in high school although luckily I was horrible enough at math that tutoring me kept you from bot fighting.”

“I don’t think I would have ever turned to bot fighting. Even without you to ground me.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have, you had Hiro to take care of. You had to step into a father figure role and you weren’t able to do anything reckless when you had had him depending on you.”

“So I have two options, get someone for him to tutor or have a kid and die forcing him to grow up.” You laughed lightly at that.

“Or you could find something else to challenge him in a not illegal way.” You paused, prompting him to figure it out himself. “Something that is similar to the things he enjoys about bot fighting?”

“You’re a genius Y/N, thank you!” Tadashi exclaimed, pulling you down to his lap for a proper kiss. You smiled into it before pulling away.

“Being a genius is your job. I just know teenagers.”

“Even more of a reason for me to introduce you to him.”

“After.” You smiled brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“After he gets in to SFIT?”

“It be a bit too much for this big transition to happen and him needing to accept me into the family.” You paused. “After he settles.”

“You could help him settle! He’ll see you anyways because you’re here most of the time.”

“Okay.” You agree. “After he gets into SFIT.”

He kissed you again before you maneuvered yourself out out of your grasp.

“Go talk to him!” You said pulling him up by his hands.

“My lab is a mess.” He said in reply gesturing to the pieces of Baymax strewn about.

“I’ll clean it.” you shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do, my big test was yesterday.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed you again before leaving.

You began to clean when something on Baymax caught your eye.

“Oh! How long have you been recording?” You said to the robot. You smiled into the camera and spoke again. “Now don’t tell Dashi this but i went to go see Hiro bot fight a couple times. He’s got all this talent he just needs to focus it. I’m sure he’ll love it here, there’s all these resources for him to draw from and teachers that will be happy to teach him.”

Feeling around the camera you frowned, “Now where is that off button?” You evidently found it as the picture froze.

Hiro breaks the silence that had settled after the recording. “You came to watch me bot fight? How did you even find me?”

“There’s only so many illegal bot fights. It wasn’t too hard to find the one you fought at.” The silence grew and you speak again. “Would you like anything? I have tea and little cookies? Dashi’s favorite.” You quietly add “We can talk if you would like.”

“The little cookies sound good are they the chocolate ones?”

“Yes.” You smile faintly and invite him and Baymax to the living room.

“Tea can be very hot and dangerous. I shall accompany you.” Baymax states shuffling past you to the kitchen. Your faint smile grows at the memory that caused Tadashi to program that phrase and you follow after.

Returning to the living room with the tea and cookies you see Hiro looking at the pictures you had spread out. Setting the tray down on the table you sit next to him, smiling at the photo he holds. It’s Tadashi and a little girl about a year old, he was lying on the couch and holding her gently, one hand resting carefully on her back and the early morning light softly illuminating their faces. She was still asleep and clutching to his shirt, her pacifier that had been gently clipped to her light yellow onesie resting on his shoulder. He was pressing a kiss to the top of her head and his free hand was entwined with yours.

“Who’s the baby?” Hiro asks quietly and you smile at him.

“She’s my cousin. I babysit her when my aunts have date nights.” He places the picture back on the table and picks up another, the one of him, Tadashi, and his aunt. “That was Dashi’s.” You explain.

“Oh.” Hiro replies and lowers it back to the table, choosing a different one to hold. “And this one?”

You explain the story behind that photo too, and than another and another until you run out of pictures. Both you and Hiro are smiling at the end of your stories and he helps you find places to put them all.

“You should come see Aunt Cass!” Hiro says excitedly. “She would love you.”

“Are you sure she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t know I was dating Tadashi?” You question adjusting the picture frame of a photo of your cat when you first found her.

“I think that she would be upset that Tadashi never told her but not upset at you.”

“I’m the one who insisted on it.”

“Trust me that wont really register.”

“Okay.” You smile at him already feeling like he was your own little brother.

“Great let’s go!”

“Oh! Uh now?”

“When else?”

“I suppose we can go now I just need to put away the tea and-”

“Okay okay.” Hiro cuts you off “Just hurry up!”

People tagged <3

@sillyfreakfanparty

@katerinaval

@discount-izukumidoriya

@heyyo-peeps

@soleil-lei

@weigheddownbyfandoms

#tadashi x reader #tadashi imagine #tadashi hamada #bh6 tadashi #hiro hamada #baymax #big hero 6 x reader #big hero six #big hero 6 #bh6 fandom #san fransokyo #sibling bonding #i love you <3 #tadashi hamada x reader

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itssotragic · 2 months

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12. “Did something happen to you that I don’t know about?” with maybe Rhea/Damian/Dom 🤔

Rated: T Tags: References to past sexual assault, therapy, nightmares.

Prompt List

Quiet nights at home were few and hard to come by. There was always something that needed to be done—unpacking, packing, getting ready for the next show, traveling, training, press. Rarely did the grind stutter to a stop long enough to be still and breathe. But somehow, they'd managed to find one of those precious nights among the chaos—a respite, a chance to simply be and be together. Damian cooked, they ate, then JD and Finn disappeared into the back bedroom with a few soft murmurs exchanged in the leaving. Both had looked so exhausted that Damian had no reason to doubt they really were turning in early.

And so five became three.

They shifted to the living room, where Dom curled up against Damian's side, head resting in his lap as if he belonged there—which, he mused, maybe he did—and Damian held him close as they put on a movie Rhea had rescued from a discount bin somewhere last week. It didn't take long before Dom was half-hidden behind a blanket, peering over the fringe and clutching onto Damian's hand with every jump and pop of noise. Damian was only half paying attention, idly carding his free hand through Dom's hair, his thoughts and gaze both drifting to where Rhea had plopped down on the floor in front of the sofa, meticulously hammering studs and rivets into a trim expanse of black leather. He had no idea what event it was for—he didn't even know if she knew—but he liked watching her work. Once in a while, her tongue would poke out from between her lips, poised at the corner of her mouth, her brow furrowed in concentration as she lined up sharp bits of metal, measured with her fingertips, counted, then swept the whole mess onto the floor so she could start hammering again.

It was hard for him to imagine a more perfect night than this—to have not just one person who fit so well into every crevice of his life, but all of them. The warmth of Dom pressed against him, Rhea always lingering just within arm's reach, Finn and JD safely tucked away in the other room. It was a kind of contentment he couldn't even imagine until he'd met them. One by one, they'd slotted into place, and a sense of peace had wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

He had half a thought lingering somewhere in the corner of his mind—something he'd been about to say, a notion that hadn't quite formed into words yet—but it was lost in the rustle of Rhea suddenly rising to her feet. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms above her head with a soft groan and a little pop of something somewhere at the base of her spine. Dom reached out and batted at her hip, and she stepped out of the way of the television with a laugh, pivoting on her toes, practically dancing between the piles of tools and fabric and supplies.

"You headed to the kitchen by any chance?" Damian asked, watching as she flicked the hem of her shorts back into place around her thigh.

"I think I need glue," she answered.

"You wanna grab me another drink on your way back?"

"Please," she teased and wiggled her fingers at him as she reached for his empty glass.

He rolled his eyes. "And thank you," he offered, handing it over with a small, fond smirk. Their hands brushed, his touch lingered, thumb grazing over her knuckles before he let go of the glass and let her slip away toward the other side of the space.

Damian's gaze followed her, tracking every movement through the room, lingering just long enough to see her slip around the corner of the island counter. Then he turned back to Dom, fingers sliding into his hair again, scratching gently at his scalp beneath a mop of dark waves. Dom hummed softly, a barely audible noise, tilting his head into Damian's palm and shifting ever closer against his side. His focus slipped, settled, sank—grasping onto nothing in particular, at least not long enough to matter—shifting from Dom to Rhea and back again with ease. Rhea's footsteps pattered softly against the tile, punctuated by the glide of drawers as she rummaged around. But even that faded into the background after a moment or two—a rhythmic pulse like a metronome, a steady beat for him to track her by.

Time slowed to a crawl. The movie played on without him; he didn't care. His eyes slipped closed, lashes heavy, comfort guiding the way towards a drowsy sort of almost-rest. Then Rhea's fingers brushed against his shoulder, cold and damp with condensation off his glass, and he hummed a soft sound of acknowledgment as she passed. He heard her nails scratch softly over Dom's blanket, skipping down his side and hip before he felt the couch cushion shift as she settled down and rest her back against it again. A gentle silence settled over them like a fog, warm and comforting, thick enough to sink into and soft enough to mold around his body.

He drifted, lulled by the feeling of Dom's fingertips brushing slowly up and down the side of his arm, tracing shapes that felt nonsensical at first until one curved and glided just so, and his attention honed back in on his own body. Slowly, the shapes Dom was drawing began to make sense. The swoop and arc of his fingertips traced tangled serpents and caressed the side of Medusa's face, almost—maybe entirely—unconsciously. His gaze was focused on the television, one arm tucked up against his chest, while the other hand simply trailed the lines as if he had them memorized. Damian's fingers stroked down the side of his neck, thumb tracing over his collarbone and shoulder before slipping back into his hair again, and shifted his arm a bit closer, easier to reach.

"Have you seen Adam's show?" Dom murmured, turning just slightly to look over his shoulder at Damian, his big, dark eyes wide and gentle and curious.

He couldn't help but laugh. Of course, to Dom, it was Adam's show, even though he was only in—what?—three episodes. But he nodded, twisting one long strand of hair around his finger. In his gut, he knew what question was probably coming next, but he still offered a soft smile and said, "Yeah, why?"

Dom shrugged. "Just wondering if that's why you got her—" His fingers swooped across Medusa's face again, then down towards Damian's wrist. "Because of the story, I mean."

It was innocuous enough that Damian probably could have skirted around the subject if he wanted to. But it felt—maybe not pointless, but unnecessary. There were parts of himself he'd always kept hidden away—for good reason—and Dom's innocent question brought one of those shadowy things stumbling out of the dark to sit in the center of his chest. And, somehow, it didn't feel as heavy as it once had. Maybe time did heal all wounds or some trite, cliche shit like that; or maybe the salve they'd been applying to it over the last months—years, in some cases—had finally started to heal something. Either way, it didn't feel as deep as it had three years ago when he'd sat down in a tattoo parlor, across from a woman with the prettiest rose-colored hair he'd ever seen, and spilled the entire story over the course of a six-hour session.

He swallowed around the knot that tried to form in the back of his throat, the phantom tingle of needle pricks flaring up along his arm, and nodded again, his smile soft and genuine even if there was a heaviness still sitting just below the surface. But Dom had already seen the flicker in his expression, the slight deepening of the lines around his eyes, the way his fingertips stuttered then stilled where they rest on the arc of Dom's shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to ask that, am I?" he said—timid, a little hesitant, a trace of worry in his voice that he had upset Damian.

But he just shook his head and gathered Dom a little closer, watching Rhea out of the corner of his eye as she set her tools down and shifted around to face them both. "No, no, it's alright, hermano. You can ask. It was a really long time ago, and I'm mostly okay now."

"Mostly?" Dom echoed, looking up at him again, searching his face, trying to find an answer in his expression.

There was no reason to try to hide anything—not with them. They didn't need the pretty version of things—the glossed-over, watered-down, sanitized truth. It was messy and ugly and uncomfortable, but they were safe, and that was the only thing that mattered. Still, he felt that hard throb in the center of his chest, the last dying ember of a fear he'd spent years trying to extinguish and couldn't quite snuff out completely. He'd learned to live with it, to maneuver around it, and it remained largely inconspicuous if still softly smoldering somewhere in the distance. But here, now, he felt like he could pick that ember up in his bare hands and not get burned by it. It was as small a spark as it had ever been.

Rhea leaned her elbow against the back of the sofa, resting her chin on her hand, looking at Damian with a softness that made his heart ache, but he couldn't quite bring himself to meet her gaze just yet. Instead, he shifted a little and tugged Dom upright, coaxing him into his lap so Rhea had space to move up onto the couch next to them. He slipped into the space between Damian's thigh and the arm of the sofa, legs draped over and between his, shoulder tucked just under his arm, blanket folded around their limbs.

He felt Rhea's lips fall against his cheek as she rose and took her place on the other side, her legs tucked beneath her as she reached for him and tangled their fingers together. Part of him was glad it was just the three of them, then. It wasn't that he didn't want Finn and JD to know, just that it seemed easier to deal with when there weren't so many people staring at him. The wound had healed, sure, but it had scarred, and some of those scars were thicker, deeper than others. It was hard to know where to start sometimes. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Truth is," he started, gaze gliding back to the television and the credits rolling there. "I wasn't fully aware of what was happening at the time. There were just a bunch of whispered conversations I don't think I was ever meant to hear, and then, all of a sudden, I was being shipped back to New York. I didn't understand why I had to leave—just that everyone was upset all the time, and all I knew was that I was at the center of it. I thought I was being punished for something, but I didn't know what, and I didn't know how to process everything that was going on either—so I just didn't."

Silence hung heavy for a few seconds, but Damian needed that pause to ground himself—to settle into the warmth that surrounded them, the feeling of Rhea's thumb brushing over his knuckles, and Dom's hand curled softly in the front of his shirt.

"I didn't start dealing with any of it until a lot later," he continued, still staring at some vague spot in the middle distance. "I had a coach who basically told me to get my shit together, then shoved me in the direction of a therapist. I hated it. I thought it was stupid and pointless—that there was nothing I could benefit from knowing—that it was gonna be a massive waste of time. Then, little by little, it started to help—even if, eventually, it opened up a can of worms I didn't realize was actually full of snakes. Once I started digging, I started to remember, and it hit me like a fucking truck. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I could barely make it to practice. I was a wreck. And, thankfully, a lot of people gave me a lot of grace while it was happening. They didn't know—no one did—they just knew I was trying to get my head on straight and that, hopefully, I was going to come out the other side of it better."

His throat was dry, and he could feel his voice faltering, but he forced himself to keep going. It was cathartic, in a way, like taking a hot knife to an infected wound and prying it open so the poison could drain out.

"There were things that had grown around that initial memory, though—rooted into it, branched off of it—things that needed to be handled separate from everything else. But by the time I moved to Vegas, I'd gotten a hold of most of that, too. The real bone-deep pain wasn't there anymore. Every once in a while, something still flares up, and I have to sit with it for a bit, but..." he shrugged, "but at least I can sit with it now. I can look at it and acknowledge that it's there, and it hurts, and that's okay. Most of the time, it's just phantom pain, anyway; something that aches because it remembers, not because it's still bleeding."

Rhea's palm slid against his cheek, cupping his jaw as she guided his face towards hers, and he felt the slightest sting in the corners of his eyes. That was residual, too—a reflex left over from all the times he'd secluded himself in some small, dark place, hoping he might feel safe enough to cry through the pain. He blinked it away and leaned into her touch, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his, her fingernails gliding softly through his beard, holding him there as he breathed deep and steadied himself. When he pulled back, he found Dom's dark eyes still watching him, quiet and curious and unassuming—a dozen different questions lingering in his gaze. Damian carded his fingers through his hair, tucking loose strands away from his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his thumb. Dom's lips twitched into a soft smile, and he pressed his cheek into Damian's palm.

"Is that why you've always been so good with me and my bad dreams?" he asked.

He laughed and nodded, his smile finally softening into something more natural. "I'm sure it has something to do with it, yeah. But you're easy to take care of."

His smile faded for a moment as he shifted his hand to curl around Dom's shoulder, holding him snug against his chest. If he'd noticed the flicker of emotion on Damian's face that time, he didn't let on; he just tucked himself in closer, drawing his knees up, and nuzzled into the solid expanse of Damian's chest. Sometimes he wondered how alike the two of them were and how much Dom kept quietly closed off for the sake of everyone else around him—to continue being the bright little ball of sunshine they all knew. But it wasn't the right time to start digging into that. He could only hope that offering this small fragment of himself would be enough that they might also feel safe in unburdening their darkness with him—more than they already had. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dom's head and shifted his gaze back to Rhea, catching the soft, sidelong glance she cast in his direction.

"I'm proud of you," she said, her voice low and warm, gentle as she drew her fingers through his hair and grazed her thumb along his temple. "You know that, right?"

Damian hummed, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat, and nodded, turning his face to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I do," he murmured, reaching for her other hand again. "But it's still nice to hear sometimes."

#damian priest #dominik mysterio #rhea ripley #the judgment day #poly judgment day #wrestling #tragically written #micro fic #no beta we die like men #you should know #i had leonard cohen on #the entire time i was writing this

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flanaganfilm · 1 year

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Hey there!

I’m a new writer-director finishing up film school and I keep getting into little spats with some of my instructors over my characters talking too much/for too long.

My stock response at this point has basically become “Well, it works just fine when Mike Flanagan does it.”

I don’t know if it’s because I come from a theatre background or what, but I really don’t like the seemingly common wisdom that characters talking—actors orating—is boring for audiences. That you have to have Something Happening all the time, and that characters “just” conversing or telling a story doesn’t count, as though “to speak” isn’t a verb.

Since you tend to have characters speak at length and it turns out riveting—I’m thinking specifically of the confetti speech from Hill House and Hassan’s speech about being a Muslim cop in NYC from Midnight Mass—I was hoping you could share some of your thoughts on balancing action with conversation, giving actors room to “just” talk, and keeping lengthy oration engaging.

Thanks!

I also come from a theater background. I wouldn't be too hard on your instructors - in fact, they sound like they're pretty in sync with a lot of executives in the industry.

I received similar feedback when I was a film student. My first few student features were very talky. We were studying the breakthrough work of Kevin Smith, Spike Lee, and Jim Jarmusch. The indie movies that were selling at Sundance and hitting theaters were The Brothers McMullen and Chuck and Buck. Tarantino had hit the scene and his characters were dropping pages and pages and pages of thick, unhurried dialogue. Reservoir Dogs posters were hanging on every dorm room wall on campus, and that movie was essentially just a long conversation. We watched My Dinner With Andre in class. So yeah, most of our student films were emulating that.

I have always loved a monologue. Going back to Robert Shaw's hypnotic story in Jaws, to Harry Dean Stanton's jaw-dropping monologue in Paris, Texas. It's an art form. Giving actors room to speak, to find music in dialogue, to transport a viewer just with mere words... that's an incredible feat, I think. It's some of the oldest magic left.

That said, I've always tried to balance that out. It's a visual medium, after all, and whenever I've found myself leaning too hard on the words, I've tried to counterbalance that was a very ambitions visual sequence, a long unbroken camera maneuver, or something else that honors the difference between filmed entertainment and theatre.

One of the reasons I made Hush was to challenge myself to eliminate words from my arsenal and focus on visual storytelling.

I take a fair amount of flack for my monologues and dialogue, first from studio executives and then from a small percentage of viewers whose attention spans are being challenged. The most common note I get on any project is to take out talking. It can be disheartening, but I'm always trying to be fair about it, and to be sympathetic to the fact that a lot of movies and television have actively tried to shorten viewers' attention spans for decades now. Audiences are being trained for things to happen faster, louder, shorter. What good is your amazing 6-minute monologue if people changed the channel two episodes ago?

There are times when it is more important to me than others. I dug in hard on Midnight Mass, where the words and ideas in those soliloquies are a big part of the point of the show... but on The Midnight Club, I didn't push for it. I kept scenes relatively short, and there isn't a monologue to be found.

But my overarching feeling is that an artfully written and well performed monologue is a gift, and a dying art. It celebrates great acting, it requires great trust of the performer and of the viewer, and it has the power to transport us with one of the oldest magics human beings ever discovered - the spoken word.

Storytelling began that way: monologues around a campfire. Over the millennia, we've harnessed that campfire light, we've even learned to paint with it, to pull our dreams out of our minds and put them onto giant screens, so the whole world can dream together... but the real magic still starts with the words.

Which is my long-winded way of trying to encourage you to make your films the way you want to make them. Make the films you want to see. And if you love words... that's a great thing. Try to find a balance, never lose sight of the visual medium, and if you're going to drop a big chunk of words in there, try to earn it with something visually challenging as well.

Or, just tell your instructors you'll make it shorter, and then cut out ten frames of air. ;)

#monologue

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onlyseokmins · 2 years

Text

fruit • h.j.s.

Pairing: joshua hong x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), established relationship, movie night but not really heh

Warnings: shua being a lil shit, reader being sassy, eating of food/fruit, mentions of cum eating (m&f), prolly sex myths idk, oral (fem. receiving), edging, fingering, uhhh WAP lmao lmk if i missed anything as always <3

WC: 1.9k

A/N: hiii, I'm trying to fill up my masterlist w/ all the members even tho I have a few sitting requests but thought Joshua would fit perfectly for this scenario when I was eating the other night 🤭 BUT ALSO THIS WAS HOT IMHO 😭

You’re nestled into Joshua’s side, the back of your head resting on his shoulder and his arm curled round you. It’s how you’re able to feel the chuckle rumbling in his chest that he’s trying to hide. A whine of complaint escapes your lips when you nearly drop the chunk of fruit you’re trying to eat because of his jostling. Plus, now you know he’s not even trying to pay attention to the flickering television screen in front of you because this is not a funny scene in the slightest.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Nothing.”

“Joshua,” you sit up to face him with a pout, “this is my favorite movie!”

“I know, babe. We’ve watched it like three times in the past month.”

“Four.”

He nods compliantly at the correction, your dark grumbling unable to prevent him from masking a fond grin. “Yeah, yeah. And we’ll probably watch it a couple more times, huh?”

“If you didn’t want to watch it tonight, you should’ve told me.”

“It’s not that, like you said it’s your favorite.”

“Then – ”

“I just like watching you more. Especially when you enjoy something.”

Joshua’s smooth talk can’t fool you after all these years together even if all you can do is roll your eyes. Likewise, when his thumb reaches out to wipe the sticky smear of juice off your lips, you remain (mostly) unaffected and fix him with a pointed stare that he steadily ignores.

“Why were you laughing? This scene is a guaranteed tearjerker no matter how many times you see it.”

“If you wanted a good reason to cry, all you had to do was ask. I could’ve provided a much more riveting alternative.”

“Joshua.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighs, knowing you might smack him when he tells you what’s on his mind. “I just find it cute… that you’re eating… pineapple.”

“Oh my god.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Baby, all I’m saying is you taste just fine as it is.”

“You are such a pervert, Joshua Hong. Can’t I enjoy some fruit in peace? There are grapes in here too!”

“Grapes. Grapes are good. Ahhh – ”

You ignore the way he groans your name in protest when you scoot down to the other end of the couch, clutching your fruit bowl and glaring his way. “You act like everything I do in life is to sexually please you or something.”

“I mean you did – ” He’s cut off again when you (gently) kick at his shin before he brings up any shameful memories. “Okay, okay! It was you who just had to ask when we could’ve watched the movie in peace.”

“Hard to when you’re giggling like a little boy because I’m eating pineapple, of all things. You definitely weren’t watching it, anyways.” You shake your head before muttering under your breath. “And if anyone needs to eat pineapple, it’s you.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” you chirp back and purse your lips.

“Actually, I didn’t.” The living room gets much darker when Joshua shuts off the television, the only source of light now the lamp behind him that casts a shadow over his handsome features. “Wanna say it again, sweetheart?”

“I was watching that.”

“Brats don’t get to enjoy things when they act up, you know this.”

The shift in the atmosphere makes your skin tingle but surprisingly, the annoyance wins over. “You’re being an irritation.”

“I prefer ‘irresistible’ but I guess you don’t agree with me at all. Apparently.”

“So, you did hear me.”

A beat of silence.

“Do you really think I taste bad?”

You give him an incredulous look, deftly dodging away when his hand attempts to reach inside your fruit bowl. “Although I love you very much, you can’t expect me to say that semen tastes good. Even I know I don’t taste all that great, either.”

“You’re very wrong and we could prove that right here, right now. You know I can eat you out for hours.”

“I’m not that turned on,” you can’t help but point out even as he pouts. “But you’re welcome to change my mind since you ruined movie night.”

Joshua’s quick to act, the couch creaking with his movements to successfully pluck the bowl out of your grasp – this time without argument. “I don’t think I’m solely the one who ruined movie night, but I’ll take full responsibility for ruining you, baby.”

His hands pull down your night shorts and panties in one go, an eager finger running tentatively along your folds. His eyebrow raises while a smirk forms on his lips as you cover your face in embarrassment at how wetness instantly gushes from your cunt, your body reacting predictably. All because it’s him – mixed with the expected promise that he’ll make you feel good as expected.

He coos your name, and you feel loved and worshipped in this most pathetic way possible while he shifts his body down yours, hot breath warming the top of your bare thighs. Soft lips trail sloppy kisses across them as his hands part your legs so he can fit his head through. Finally, he’s merely inches away from where your fluttering hole betrays you, clenching at nothing as he gazes in contemplation before swiping his tongue along it.

You let out a moan at the feeling, fingers reaching out to grasp at his hair. Slightly pulling him closer so his nose brushes against your clit causes your hips to buck up against his awaiting mouth. He chuckles at your impatience but gives in, obviously – your alluring scent makes his eyes roll back in delight.

It’s sinful how his tongue swirls inside you, plush lips brushing against you in all the right places, hands keeping your legs spread as wide as possible and bringing you closer to him. The wet sounds filling the room are accompanied by his grunts of appreciation although everything else is drowned out by the blood roaring in your ears and the moans escaping your mouth.

Joshua never fails to surprise you with how fast he can bring you to a climax. You feel it creeping up your spine, body tensing as it threatens to hurtle towards release. Too bad he knows the signs extremely well because he suddenly pulls away and white noise fills your ears as the feeling excruciatingly fades out.

“Shua,” you whine. Hands blindly searching for him so he can finish the job, but he’s moved past your reach.

“Right here, baby.” A reassuring kiss is placed on your nose. “Shh, shh,” he whispers in your ear when you find him and wrap your arms around his neck, trying to bring his body down to yours to grind against. But he refuses to budge, biceps flexing as he holds himself firmly above you. “You’re doing so good for me. Look at you, already begging from just a tiny bit of pussy licking.”

Tears sting your eyes at the painful ache between your legs. You know he loves it, the offer of making you cry in desperation always on the table and even though you hate giving into his sadistic satisfaction, Joshua does good on his end at bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm – eventually.

He bends his neck down to kiss you, grinning at how he doesn’t have to run his tongue across your lips for access because your mouth is already open in acceptance. The taste of fruit you were eating earlier is replaced by the tangy flavor of your own cunt as Joshua’s tongue entangles with yours.

“See how sweet you are? How could I not get enough of this?” He licks his lips and eases the tip of a finger inside your warmth. “So. Fucking. Addictive.”

Each word is punctuated by an additional finger sliding and curling inside of you until you’re delightfully full. His thumb rubs at your clit but relief is short-lived when you tighten around him since he decides to leave you empty again.

You have tears streaming down your cheeks as you miserably watch him lick his fingers clean, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. Once more, he makes you taste yourself with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Please, Shua.”

“What do you want, baby? Wanna taste how delicious you are when you cum on my tongue?”

You’re furiously nodding, at this point agreeing to however he’ll let you reach your much desired release. “Yeah. Please, please, please!”

“Hands to yourself then.”

Your clothed chest is heaving from sobs of anguish as your nails dig into the leather couch. Joshua is cruel. When his head returns between your legs, large hands hold down your hips while he places featherlight smooches on your pelvis and inner thighs, an occasional kitten lick to your leaking pussy.

He’s letting your climax plateau. Almost there but not quite. One step away from taking the plunge but he refuses to help you there as his darkened eyes stare tauntingly into your teary ones. He adores when his sassy lover is whiny but obedient. Submissive but teasing. Especially when you begin to play with your perky nipples that rub against your shirt, trying so hard to urge your release to snap.

“What did I just say?”

“Keep my hands to myself. Which I am. They’re not on you.”

Shiny lips from your wetness turn downwards in a frown. Technically you’re not wrong but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Before you can get too carried away, he relents. Diving back down to suck harshly at your clit, plunging his long fingers deep into your cunt that would have had screaming in ecstasy if you weren’t already gasping at the searing orgasm that rips through you.

Your legs tighten in a headlock around him but it’s not like he’s complaining. Joshua’s mouth trades places with his fingers to lap at your delectable pussy that gushes from the powerful sensations, his own hips grinding down against the couch. Your quiet whimpers alert him of possible overstimulation and he places one last kiss against your thigh before cuddling your trembling body in his lap.

“You still with me, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod and nuzzle his neck, “feels like I’m floating.”

He laughs, rubbing your back and waits for you to come back down to earth. By the time you do, your eyebrows furrow at the wetness on his jeans underneath that is definitely not from you.

“Did you…?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? I was gonna suck you off.” To say you’re beyond surprise would not be a lie because he usually has a tight leash around his control.

“Nah. I have to eat some pineapple first.”

“Joshua Hong!”

He snorts and kisses your forehead. “In all seriousness, that was just too hot to resist. Besides, I figured that would wear you out.”

“True. I think you sucked the life out of me, honestly.”

“Tasted like it,” he says while you grimace.

“Stop that. You’re disgusting.”

“But you liked it.”

“I… liked what you did, not what I tasted like. I think you’re delusional.”

“Delusional and in love with you, yes. Do I need to prove it again?”

You sigh, standing up. “No, because I’ll just believe you’re only pussy whipped. Now come on, let’s go shower and sleep.”

“Maybe I am. But I’m especially whipped for you first.” He follows you up the stairs before pausing in contemplation. “Hey, do you think the pineapple really works?”

“You better hope this shower doesn’t turn into a bath where I drown you,” you yell back, “so get your ass up here before I kick you out!”

#ez.creates #svt smut #seventeen smut #Joshua smut #joshua hong smut #kpop smut #svt.smut

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