#tapes winding forward

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (a Valentino production)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.

tags: Alastor x reader, smut, dubcon, mentions of assault (Val intended to "fuck you to death”), Val's existence, overstimulation, forced (?) orgasms, bondage (shadow tentacles), choking (sexy kind, not murdery kind), cervix wrecked, your aunt is a bitch

(author's note: I've been in Japan for like 7 years and my English has suffered, but your fucking smutty writing on this site has inspired me to write for the first time in years.)

Minors DNI

Angel burst into the hotel lobby, winded. “Please, you gotta do somethin’!” 

To the surprise of everyone, he ran straight to Alastor, tears forming in his eyes.

“Val’s gonna hurt her real bad. I don’t know who else to ask, please. I can't—-“ he cradled his head in his hands, “I can't watch him break any more people.”

Alastor didn’t seem to react at first, but Charlie appeared at Angel’s side and pulled him into a hug, “Angel, take a deep breath. He’s gonna hurt who? What’s wrong?”

“He got a new soul. Some fucking cultist offered her up as sacrifice. But she's not dead yet Charlie—- he dragged her down here alive.” His voice cracked, “He wantsta— he said he’s gonna fuck her to death on camera and wait for her to respawn in hell. He’s convinced he’ll make a fortune off the tapes. Please, for fuck’s sake someone has to do something.”

A human in hell? Well, that was something interesting after all. With a raised brow Alastor spoke, “And how exactly can I help this poor, unfortunate soul?”

“Make a deal or– rip his arms off, I don’t fuckin’ know! There has to be something you can offer Val worth her soul. I’d give you my soul if I could!”

Well that’d be worthless.

But a human? A living, breathing human? Intriguing.

“Alastor you have do something. This isn't right! Hell isn’t for the living.” Charlie’s hair flew upward as her eyes flashed red for a second, “I’ll repay it somehow.”

Well there's no harm in taking a look. 

The demons and sinners who saw Alastor walking into the Vee’s tower oscillated between fleeing for their lives and live tweeting the event. Either a truce or a war would be breaking out and they knew they’d be fucked regardless.

“Alastooor”, Val exhaled,  letting the name drag out lazily, “Come to ruin something, I’m sure.” Val hadn’t seen Alastor since his fight with Vox 7 years ago, and he hadn’t expected to see him in his studio— ever. 

“Ha! No, not today. Word got around that there's a special little guest hidden in your studio.” Alastor’s eyes darted about the room, uninterested in the various parts and bits of the actors changing.

Val glanced at Angel, who’d suspiciously returned some 30 minutes before Alastor appeared. 

“I didn’t say nothing, Val.” Angel’s hands went up in defense. “He came to me askin’ about her.”

“And what exactly do you want with my “little guest”?” Val dropped any pretense of politeness. 

Alastor leaned forward on his microphone, and with a pop of static he practically cooed, “To see the poor creature, of course.”

Val ashed his cigarette into a cameraman’s hair and walked off, “Fuck it, sure. She’s back here.”

The back room was dark, perhaps some would call it mood lighting but what mood exactly it conveyed fell somewhere between dungeon and power outage.

You sat on your knees in the center of a round bed. Arms held above your head by a large clip attached to wrist restraints. Your body swayed slightly, a long rope anchored to the ceiling and tied to the clip above you.  Your body was slightly suspended, knees barely making contact with the bed beneath you. The white nightgown you wore was bloodied and ripped at the collar, causing it to slip down your left shoulder. Jaw clenched, your eyes were covered with a red satin tie. 

Alastor took the scene in. Your lip was cut and swollen, bruises peppered your cheek and exposed shoulder. Yet, you were breathing heavily, like a bull about to rush them. You were clearly defenseless, but somehow still defiant. His smile grew to his ears. It had been decades since he had a human in such a prone state.

“Have you …. broken her in yet?” He asked delicately, eyes never leaving your face.

“Nah, just roughed her up a little. I want to capture her raw reaction on camera when she takes her first demon cock.” Valentino clenched his fist to emphasize the word “first”. 

Your head fell forward as you pulled down on your wrist restraints, a growl rising in your throat.

Alastor felt his breath get caught in his own, your nightgown riding slowly up your legs as you struggled. 

“Hey!” Val snapped his fingers in your direction. “Don’t embarrass me. Our guest came to see you. He’s considering making an offer for you, I’m sure, so say hello like a good girl.” Val rolled his eyes, “Sluts always fucking embarrassing me.”

You tried to gather enough saliva to speak, finding the taste of blood still on your tongue. “Fuck you and your friend.” barely made it from your chapped lips. When was your last drink of water? Last meal? How long had you been unconscious before this all began?

“Not friends.” Alastor was quick to retort, “The name’s Alastor, my dear. It’s a pleasure.”

You sneered, a pleasure? What a sick joke. 

“Alastor.” you repeated it, disdain dripping from your lips.

The absolute contempt with which you said his name did something to him. His eyes darted from your mouth back to your inner thighs, exposed from the rising dress. Your mouth was so rude but your body looked so sweet. A little lamb– no, a doe.  

“Say it again.” It wasn’t a request, Alastor himself was surprised to hear himself say it with such demand.

You thrashed. “Oh is that what gets you off? You wanna hear your name in my mouth?” You said mockingly. “You’re just as FUCKED as him.” The nightgown rode up even further. Alastor’s tongue stuck to his teeth as his mouth went dry. Had you been delivered to Val without panties? Offered to him in just this sheer cotton night dress? What was happening to him…

 Static bit your skin as a low hum filled the room. 

“Say it.” Alastor’s voice dropped an octave, eyes suddenly taking on a slight glow. You couldn’t see the danger before you, but you felt it. Something primal in you knew you were in the presence of a predator.

No, you couldn’t see him, but his presence was pressing in all around you. 

“Alastor.” You seethed, “ALASTOR.” Pulling down on the restraints yet again you tried to find the strength to stand, “ALASTOR! ALASTOR!!” Your legs buckled under you having gone numb hours ago, his name devolving into a gutteral scream. All of your anger and despair ripped from your chest as you shouted his name. The nightgown had now ridden to your hips but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in you to care. 

You were so full of rage, so defiant still. You were so…. alive.

He felt the blood rushing to his crotch in an all together forgotten sensation, and knew immediately his decision. “Let’s make a deal.” His eyes didn’t leave you, but Valentino knew he was talking to him.

Val let out a laugh, “I have some time to waste while they finish the set. Why not.”

Seated in his personal quarters, Val motioned for Alastor to sit opposite him. You had been left in the dark of that room, only knowing you were alone when the static died down and the hair on the nape of your neck relaxed. 

“Listen, Radio Demon. There’s nothing you have that could tempt me to hand over the little bitch.” His long arms rested over the back of his sofa, a heart shaped puff of smoke leaving his lips. Alastor swatted at the air as it approached. 

“What do you even need her for? You don’t deal in souls, but flesh. Surely you can find another toy to break on camera.” Alastor waved his microphone away.

“Hmm”, Val brought a finger to his chin in thought, seriously considering what Alastor could possibly offer him. “Oooh, I know.” His head lolled to the side,  “People have seen me fuck a thousand times. But no one’s ever even seen you with a partner. ‘Radio Demon fucks human sacrifice’” He motioned from left to right as if reading the words off an imaginary marquee, “Now THAT would make money. Real money. Fuck GOD levels of money.” A red liquid leaked from his lips as they were stretched across clenched teeth, his hips involuntarily humped at the air, “oh fuck. Yes. You do the porn, and I’ll give her to you. Soul and body.”

Alastor was looking at Val but his mind was still in front of you, his name tumbling from your lips. The uninterrupted skin where your thighs met your hips. The desperation in your scream. How absolutely soft and fragile you were. He adjusted his hips, trying to calm the twitching of his cock at the thought of you helplessly before him. 

“What exactly are you proposing?” His fingers came to rest entwined on his knee, one leg over the other.

“First, I have full rights to the video to do as I please.” Val counted out on his fingers, “The porno has to show penetration. No dry humping or some bullshit like that. I need you fucking that whore if I’m gonna sell this shit. Aaand”, A sickening grin grew on Valentino’s face, “She has to cum. And I’ll know if she’s faking it. If you don’t manage all three, the deal is off. I keep the human and all rights to the video for per— no, *in* pep-“ he sputtered, “perpur- forever! Fuck.” 

Alastor’s default grin was now so wide his gums could be seen peeking past his lips, his eyes flashing to dials, “It’s a deal.” He extended his hand to Valentino as he stood. A green light was shining from the open palm but Val shook it regardless, confident the deal's conditions wouldn’t be met. He’d seen a lot of fucked up shit on his set, but the Radio Demon, famously uninterested in sex, wasn’t going to make a battered human cum. How stupid could Alastor be, he thought. And he’ll have the video of Alastor failing to please someone to broadcast all over the pride ring and beyond. “May I have a moment alone with her before the filming?”

Val rolled his eyes, “yeah but don’t fuck her off camera.”

The sudden feeling of a hand on your hip startled you so intensely you let out a yelp. 

“Hello, my little doe.” Hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, then your neck, then your collar bone… “Unfortunately your shoot will still continue today. But if you do as I say, I promise you’ll leave the studio alive.”

You felt the nightgown being tugged back down your hips, hiding your exposed sex.

“I will be taking that pompous moth’s place. I will be as gentle as I can, but he will want to see you suffer. You must still fight me, must act pained. Can you play along?”

Your eyes darted behind your eyelids. He sounded— gentle? His voice was soft against your skin. Maybe he was truly the lesser evil of the two. You nodded. You’d heard all the gory details of what the other demon had planned for you, this sounded infinitely more tolerable. You dare thought you’d suffered worse before. 

“And, one more little caveat, darling. I will bring you to orgasm, so please don’t fight so hard as to delay your release.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until his words punched you in the gut. 

“I-“

“Yes?” Alastor’s mouth was nearly on your neck, his smile ghosting your skin.

“I’ve never—- I mean I can only do that by myself. No one else has managed to-“

A large hand patted your head, cutting your train of thought off. How big was he? His hands could palm a basketball. Could he really be gentle? Was he capable of it? Were those hands going to be on you soon? Your mind was running away with the thought of this strange demon fucking you on camera. 

“Oh don’t worry about that. Just focus on your performance. We have to put on a good show!”

Angel was practically chewing his fingers off as he watched the crew finish the set.

“Alastor what the fuck, I thought you were gonna help her!”

“I am, my effeminate friend. Have a little faith in me.” He adjusted his bowtie and took his place on set.

“I have none. I have negative faith, Alastor. Fuuuuck”, Angel slumped against the wall behind him and sank to the floor. 

The stage was set. A red sigil was painted on the floor of a cabin, candles lit around the room as the only source of light (except the stage lighting hanging above the scene). Of the three walls they’d made, the far left wall had an altar haphazardly filled with flowers, a golden bowl, and small plaid satchel.

Someone — something? — led you by the restraints to the stage. Blindfolded, you were pushed down to the floor, forced to sit on your still numb legs. The leather cuffs on your wrist were unbuckled, allowing you to flex your hands. When you reached for the blindfold a hand smacked at yours.

“No no, keep it. I want you to look exactly how I found you.” The familiar voice of Val instructed. 

Someone handed a script to Alastor, but he pulled his hands away from the demon as if the paper itself was an angelic weapon, “Oh, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll tell you what to say” Val said, clearly to you.

“It’s—- it’s fine. I’ll just do it like before. I don’t need any help.”

You really didn’t.  There was no improv needed. You could repeat exactly what you said yesterday evening when you awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar place. You’d been visiting your aunt one moment, and alone in a weird room what felt like moments later. Groggy, but alert enough to know something bad had happened. 

You heard “action”, and then silence. You could feel eyes on you.

“Aunt Sara….” You whispered. “I don’t understand what’s happened… Are you still there?” You rubbed your wrists trying to regain some blood flow, readjusting your legs to do the same. 

You heard a strange sound, both yesterday and now. 

“Aunt Sara isn’t here. She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.” The way Alastor said it, the way his breath seemed to almost hitch, surprised you. Something cold touched your ankle, causing you to flinch, “But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

You felt that something-unknown snake up your leg toward your center. Crawling backwards on your butt to create some distance you collided with the altar. The golden bowl rolled to the edge and spilled its contents across the table. You could smell the iron tang of blood before you felt the pitter patter on your shoulder. Alastor inhaled quickly before letting the air back out with as much control as he could manage.

“Who are you?!” You’d asked this already. But this time the disembodied voice of your captor replied, “Alastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you.”

The right side of your face smacked against the floor of the makeshift cabin as you were dragged suddenly across the room and into the red sigil. The cold appendage on your leg now tightly coiled up your calf.

“No— you have to fuck her with your fucking dick! You can’t use shadow tentacles!” Val shouted, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Now now, the deal didn’t specify with what, only that penetration must occur. Plus, I won’t show up on your video recording device anyway.” Alastor took several steps back, ensuring he was not in frame, “Rest assured, your audience will know it is me.” His words cracked and stuttered like someone had changed the station midway through his sentence.

A small, “fine, whatever.” was grumbled and the scene continued, the tentacle snaking its way up your thigh as Alastor chuckled softly at how you flinched against him.

You rolled onto your stomach and tried to kick off the shadow but it held firm. Letting out a groan you used your hands to drag yourself back towards the altar. Before you could reach the table your other leg felt the pressure of a new tentacle twist around your knee as you were dragged back toward the Radio demon once again.

Your nightgown was forced up, your ass now exposed and in the air as your legs were pulled open. That was as far as you had really gone yesterday, before a flash of light delivered you into the Pentagram City studio. 

Surprisingly, you felt embarrassed, self conscious knowing there were other people in this room. But as if he could read your mind, or perhaps just noticed the tremble in your legs, Alastor softly said, “It’s only us now, darling. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Third and fourth appendages appeared around your waist and neck. Effortlessly your hips were lifted off the floor, your cunt on full display to the man who now owned you. The tentacle on your neck slipped between your shoulder blades and pressed your chest firmly to the floor. You squirmed and struggled against the restraints but only accomplished to draw another chuckle from Alastor.

“Relax. We have forever, after all. We can take our time.”

You felt pressure at your entrance, and your pleas to stop were cut short as a shadow tentacle pushed its way inside you. It was cold, but quickly began to warm as your heat enveloped it. Your body was resisting it, too tight to take it all in one thrust, but you could feel it slick against your lips easily enough to make its way inside.

“Ooh, my dear, your wet little cunt betrays you.” He cocked his head to the side, antlers doubling then tripling in size, “Have my words affected you so much?”

You could feel the tentacle’s shape shift slightly inside you as if it were adjusting to you and not the other way around. True to his word, there was no pain except from the burning stretch of your hole against the girth of his shadow self.

Hissing, you thrashed against the sigil, “get OFF OF ME!” Pushing against the floor you barely got your shoulders an inch off the ground when you felt a nth appendage graze sloppily over your clit. You stilled, suddenly remembering your end of the deal. Your promise to the demon now circling your clit with his shadow. If you couldn’t do this, then the entire filming was for nothing.

“Don’t forget to breath. I can’t have you dying on me just yet, sweetheart.” The static was slowly building in the air around you again, a silent threat.

Your hand shot to your mouth, trying to smother the depraved sounds being fucked out of you. The tentacle in your pussy was now ramming against your cervix, curving and bending as it repeatedly forced its way in and out of you. The room was quiet, except for the slick, sticky sound of the tentacle coated in your fluids pulling nearly completely out of you before smashing back in. The pace was slow and cruel, but the pressure on your clit was fast and hard. Your mind was starting come undone, your thoughts splintering. You couldn’t focus on anything anymore, all over your body was pressure, pleasure, massaging, pushing, and pulling. 

“Ah ah, that won’t do.” Alastor practically sang the words as an appendage pulled your hands from your mouth and brought them to the small of your back. 

You whimpered, trying to find a balance between the overstimulation and the need to not let them see how much you were getting off on this. You needed to hate it more. Hate him more. Your cheek stuck to the wood of the floor as drool leaked from your open mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer. 

“I’ll—” Your strength was nearly gone, but you managed to knock your upper body around the sigil, smearing the still wet blood across your chest. You only managed to whisper into the flooring a quiet, “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”

The tentacles stopped, for a second you felt tears sting your eyes at the loss of friction. A loud screech made you wince, but you had no time to question it as your body was violently flipped. Your hips were slammed down onto the ground, held tightly by a tentacle around your waist. The back of your head ached as it was jostled in the turn. The shadows on your thighs now seemed determined to bruise you as they constricted around your skin. 

“What was that, dear?” The tentacle in your pussy seemed to swell inside you, the force of the thrusts picking up in intensity. He was ramming into your body with such fervor you felt the skin of your ass chaffing on the wooden grain beneath you.  “Speak up, now”, you heard him exhale forcefully, his controlled appearance hanging on by a thread.

“I-”, your mouth opened to continue your resistance when a new sensation stopped you. A second tentacle was trying to squirm its way into your heat, just above the now uncomfortably thick one twisting around inside of you. The pressure on your stomach from the force made you feel sick, but the devoted ministrations on your clit had your legs twitching against the restraints. “Ah–! no, wai-” It managed to slip itself into you, and with no hesitation it was pressing against your g-spot in a matching rhythm to the tentacle swiping over your swollen clit.

You’d never before made a sound like the one that was pulled from your throat. It was ugly and animalistic and took you by surprise. Still struggling to catch your breath, you threw your head back. You were losing control. As your body was rocked against the ground, the blindfold got caught in the friction and slipped down your nose. 

Bringing your head back up, you finally locked eyes with your new master. 

“Alas-” Another chilly tentacle came to your neck and began to lightly squeeze. You could only breathe out the rest of his name as your eyes met with his. He stood some feet from you, just outside of the sigil, barely on the set at all. He seemed nonplussed, antlers looming over you and suit perfectly neat, except one detail. His pupils dilated when you finally set your eyes onto his. The grip on your neck only stopped tightening when you stomped your foot down in fear of passing out. You didn’t break eye contact, a fire burning in you that told him no matter what he did you wouldn’t be broken. That look in your eyes, the contempt mixed with overwhelming pleasure made Alastor shift one foot in front of the other in an effort to better conceal the erection straining against the zipper of his pants. 

“Mmmhhh–” You finally broke contact as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pressure beneath your belly was building, a tightness threatening to snap. But this wasn’t like before, this wasn’t like when you were alone in your bed with your own hand. It felt like too much, your heart was pounding so hard you thought you’d really die. There was no way your body could continue this much longer, your heart would surely give out.

“Please–” You needed him to stop, the ghostly hand on your throat, the two tentacles pressing against your cervix and g-spot, the unrelenting pressure on your clit. It was too much, it was too sensitive. “I’m sorry, please. Pleeea-” you gritted your teeth, thighs twitching as the muscles in your core tightened.

“Going to cum, my little doe?” Through gritted teeth of his own Alastor asked you as if you had any choice in the matter. He forced your knees up to your shoulders, allowing the tentacles to reach new depths. 

“AaaaHH” You convulsed, “I’m yours, Alastor!” You moaned, willing to say anything to stop the overwhelming feeling as the coil snapped, you were orgasming on this demon’s shadow and for the love of all that was unholy he wouldn’t fucking let up. You did what he said, but he wasn’t stopping. His thrusts didn’t slow, your clit was throbbing and your body shaking uncontrollably. All defiance was dead, your fire snuffed out. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused. Your head hit the floor again as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight, “It’s all yours. My soul is yours! Please- sto-” Another orgasm was being fucked out of you, no recovery from the first. “I can’t, I can’t” Your jaw locked, the way your cunt was spasming and tightening around his shadow appendages nearly pushed them out of your body with the strength of your first forced orgasm. The lights in the room flickered and popped, the candles blew out with a sudden gust, static drowned out your voice from everyone but Alastor as you screamed through the second orgasm. A green light erupted from the smeared sigil beneath you, blinding the crew and onlookers. “My body is yours! My soul! It’s all yours. I give you all of me, Alastor! Alastor!!” Your vision went spotty, and your throat seemed to close around your voice. Your face was red with the strain of your orgasm. You’d never felt unrelenting pleasure like that before and in that moment you’d have given him absolutely anything he wanted from you. Everything. It was his. You were his. He owned you inside and out.

The bullying of your cunt finally calmed after your orgasm began to edge away, your breath no longer stuck in your throat. He didn’t stop, but he slowed down to a lazy pace as what few lights managed to survive flickered back to life. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you looked over your wrecked body to Alastor. His eyes were wild, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead. His smile was manic, sinister almost. He looked truly demonic. A wave of fear carried a chill down your spine.

The tentacles withdrew, the sudden loss making you feel colder somehow now than before. They had taken on your own heat and matched your temperature so perfectly, now your body felt empty. You felt naked. Your cunt was still clenching, but around nothing at all. It felt…like something was missing now. Your body seemed to be upset at the loss of contact. It made your stomach turn.

You flinched when the radio demon approached you, but instead of tearing you to pieces like his grin had promised, he slipped his suit jacket off and laid it over your body. You hadn’t realized the dress was torn and lying beneath you in a wet pile of blood and sweat. The confusion must have been evident on your face, because Alastor’s appearance shifted. Antlers now small, if not tiny between his ears. His eyes a red and pink, lids half closed. His smile was just a line across his face, no teeth at all. He looked like a gentleman, had you not known what he had just done to your pussy you’d have thought him incapable of such impropriety. 

“Good job, my little doe.” He whispered before you were handed a glass of water by a tall stranger. 

“Wow, you’re kind of natural at this babe. I haven’t seen a performance like that in ages.  Are you okay?” You took the water from him but didn’t open your mouth to reply, instead transfixed on his appearance. You’d only seen Val and Alastor until now. “You can call me Angel. We’ll get you home soon. I swear.”

Your eyes flitted to Alastor’s, did he know? He must have, he must have felt it. Of course he knew. In those final moments, you hadn’t been acting. Not an ounce of your pleasured responses were disingenuous. Not a single word a lie.

Alastor helped you to your feet as Angel placed a robe over your shoulders. Alastor hummed as he put his jacket back on, a satisfied sound coming from his chest that almost sounded like a song. 

Val sat in his director’s chair with his legs crossed, mouth open. His cigarette was mostly ash, delicately lingering on the stub.

Alastor placed a hand on the small of your back as you were guided to the door. Looking over his shoulder he grinned to Val, “It seems our deal is done here, Valentino. She’s mine, in perpetuity.”

(Part two)

༻Masterlist༺

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #radio demon #reader insert #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel angel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #reader #x you smut #x you #you insert #x reader #smut fanfiction #fanfic

[rainboww0lfie]

a ghosts graves

In the aftermath of a battle, Phantom, Batman, and Superman could be see talking between each other. 

During a lull in the conversation a tiny girl comes running from underneath caution tape taped around the vicinity, holding a bouquet of marigolds between her small hands. She’s out of breath and seems to be embarrassed when she stands before the heroes, Batman reacts the quickest to the sudden encounter. Asking her about why shes here and what the problem is, he’s about to ask about her parents when she interrupts with “i have something for mister Phantom”. 

Danny who had been only half listening was caught off guard, he looks at her and tries for a reassuring smile but his confusion must show through because she suddenly looks down shyly at her flowers. 

“I heard from mommy that you put flowers on graves for people you like, ” she starts, “i don't know where yours is though, so i got you flowers to put it wherever it is”. She’s obviously embarrassed about interrupting, but she says the words with a form of determination. Suddenly what seems to be her mother comes running from out of the crowd. 

“I am so, so, sorry for Miya, i didn't mean to loose sight of her, she slipped away, we’ll get out of your hair now. ” the woman says in a rush, gently tugging the child back from the slack jawed heroes. Danny can just make out her gently reprimanding the child for her behaviour when he suddenly steps forward. “Wait, wait, wait” he says quickly, crouching down to the child now hiding a bit behind the mother, “you got me flowers. . . so i can put them on my grave?” the tiny nod he gets from that has him smiling, “you wanted to put flowers on my grave?” is asked with excitement, gaining n even bigger nod in return. 

He takes a small step forward, still crouched, and asks “are you alright with me hugging you?”, the nod lets him quickly move forward a spin the child around in a tight hug, laughing. He smiles brightly at the girl, holding her in his arms with enough space to make sure the flowers were safe, who is smiling back just as brightly. Danny laughs, “no ones ever given me flowers before! And you want them on my grave!” the actions have gained the attention of both civilians and other heroes, Danny could honestly care less though, someone wants to put flowers on his grave! Someone went through the effort of giving him flowers! He is so excited!

Both the mother, Superman, and Batman all look uncomfortable, “have you. . . never gotten. . ahem. . Flowers before?” Superman asks, “i mean, you look young so. . . have your parents never. . . ?”, the ending never gets finished but its definitely implied what he wants to really ask. Danny doesn't care, its not exactly important, right?

He looks at the heroes and says cheerily “i don't think my parents even know im dead!” before looking back at the child in his arms, not seeing all the shocked, pale faced staring( minus Batman, he never emotes, like, at all). 

Eventually the kid has to leave due to dangerousness of the area, but not before a final hug and happy goodbye from Phantom after she hands the flowers to the undead hero. Danny says his goodbyes to the surrounding heroes, not understanding why they all look at him funny as he carries around the marigold bouquet before he flies off. He holds the flowers close to makes sure they dont get destroyed by the wind, but he cant help a few happy loops and twirls in his flight home. 

The first ever flowers for his grave, how exciting!

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

Ever since then the heroes and a few civilians make sure to give Phantom flowers each time they see him for his grave. Phantom is so excited people want to give him flowers each time a new set is given to him. 

________________________________________________________________

wooooooo ok

i finally actually wrote something after so long, sorry for the long break between shit, stuff happened :/

sorry if there's any big misspellings or anything like that in here, i had an idea and wanted it down as fast as possible and i fucking ran with it as far as i could lol

y’all can continue this if you want, i just thought this idea was so cute

have a good night/day/afternoon/life

#my writing #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #batman #superman #danny phantom #danny fenton #the supers are horrified #lmao #so is that one random civilian #her child doesn't get it so shes safe from the horror #lol

[woso-dreamzzz]

Youth Team III

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You have a bad game

You stared down at your gloved hands with a frown, like you couldn't quite believe that you missed it.

You should have caught it but one of Scotland's strikers came barrelling towards you and trapped your hand between her shoulder and the goalpost.

Your fingers throbbed badly and you just managed to block another shot but by a bare brush of your gloves. Your fingers pulsed with pain and you grit your teeth.

It was official.

You were having a bad game, by your standards at least.

Letting one goal past you could take but two were unacceptable. Your saves were sloppy and your footwork even worse. Your defence was having an off day too so there was nowhere to hide.

The armband around your bicep felt like a weight rather than a privilege as you struggled to keep the ball out of your net.

By the time the first half finished, you were disappointed in yourself, a pit deep in your stomach. Letting two goals past you felt like the end of the world. It felt like everything was going wrong and it was all made worse when you tugged off your gloves.

Two of your fingers were purple and swollen.

It made sense why they were throbbing now.

They were both curled over as well and felt stiff. You try to straighten them out and wince, biting down on the inside of your cheek.

No.

This can't be happening.

You hide them under your shirt. If anyone saw then they would take you off. If they took you off then you wouldn't be able to redeem yourself.

Your mothers were in the crowd. You were wearing the captain's armband.

You didn't want Momma to see her daughter being taken out of the game.

You dig around in your bag, pulling out a popsicle stick that moster Frido gave you for emergencies and a roll of medical tape. You shove the stick between your two fingers and wind the tape around them, forcing them to straighten out.

They pulse in protest but you pop a painkiller and grit your teeth.

It's harder to play with two fingers in one finger hole but you're coping and no one seems to notice.

Your defence is still in shambles and you yell at them to get their act together. You're not really a yeller. You don't like to bark orders but you're getting desperate.

Usually, you can allow your defence to be a bit messy but you're not on form and you need them to start pulling their weight.

They don't and the ball skims your finger as you push it away.

"Organise yourselves!" You snap, your frustration bubbling up as your fingers throb in protest," Stop playing like children!"

This is one of the worst games of your life.

Your defence might as well be making daisy chains. Your midfielders keep losing possession and your forwards have grown complacent with your one goal lead.

You're not doing much better either.

None of your saves are smart. You're desperate to keep your measly lead even as your fingers throb and your armband feels tighter and tighter every minute you wear it.

The win leaves a bitter taste in your mouth when the final whistle is blown and you can't help but ignore your defensive line in an attempt to not blow up at them.

Your fingers look terrible as you shower and change, shoving your hand into your hoodie pocket so you don't have to look at your failure.

Your mothers are waiting outside in the car and the rain pelting the windows only seems to make your mood worse.

"A few close calls, huh, princesse?"

It's clear Morsa is trying to laugh this off but you don't want her to talk so you stubbornly plug your earphones in and turn them up until your mothers can hear it too.

You stay silent until you get home.

A win is a win but this is the last game of this international break and you can't help but feel angry at it all. Your flight back to Sweden is tomorrow and you've got two days of rest before you're back at training again.

"Have we got ice?"

It's the first words you've spoken since you left the changing room and your Momma raises a brow.

"Why do you need some?"

You show her your finger and the hasty splint you made.

"Princesse...What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," You reply, turning your head away so you don't have to make eye contact.

Momma looks like she wants to say more but she ends up just shaking her head and going off to find some ice.

Morsa throws your phone at you. "Call Zećira," She says.

"What?"

"Call Zećira. You're upset. You didn't play as well as you hoped. We can't help so call Zećira."

Morsa doesn't give you much of a choice and you dial the number.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hi..." Your voice is moody and sullen as Morsa stands in front of you with her arms crossed.

"Well, that doesn't sound good. Rough game?"

You look down at your bruised fingers. "Something like that?"

Zećira hums on the other line. "Did you try your best?"

"I guess..."

"That's not an 'I guess' question," She chides," I'm not asking if you were the very best today. I'm not asking if you played in your best form. But, for how you were feeling today, did you try your best?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters."

"How many did they score past you?" Zećira asks," Come on, how many?"

"Two."

"Two goals isn't much in the grand scheme of things. How many did Denmark get?"

"Three."

"You didn't lose," Zećira says," And you tried your best. What else happened?"

"I hurt my fingers. They're all purple and...I didn't get them checked out."

"Put ice on them and get them checked as soon as you're back in Sweden, okay? I've got money placed on those hands winning a World Cup. You've got to keep them safe."

That shocks a laugh out of you. "I will."

"Good. Listen, you're still young. You're allowed to have off days. It's okay."

You sigh. "Things were easier when it was just as in the park."

Zećira laughs too. "I hope you remember those times when you're lifting the World Cup as a captain."

You scoff.

"I'm serious," She says," Maybe not your first World Cup but definitely one of them. I can see it."

"Whatever you say."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

[emotionoitme]

safe in your skin

part two of about a girl

carmy berzatto x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: friends with benefits, bdsm dom/sub undertones, age gap, alcohol & tobacco use, lots of dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (use condoms!!), choking, mutual pining

wc: 7.5k

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the last chapter! i was literally kicking my legs twirling my hair reading through the replies. please enjoy some more nastiness!! and lots of yearning ofc <3

title fight - safe in your skin

job hunting was a grueling task, no matter how lucky you get— the girl could feel this physically, shoulders slumped and feet aching. she had dropped off applications at 4 different places that day, eager to start a new job as soon as possible. what she didn’t expect was places seemingly desperate for help saying they’d up to a week to get back to her. she dejectedly checked the time on her phone, strolling down the relatively empty sidewalk. it was a little after 3, meaning she’d have time to check out a few more options before heading home. she wasn’t necessarily enthusiastic about the task, either, searching up bars in her vicinity to take an application to. she finds a smaller looking club on google maps 2 miles away and pulls up walking directions. she was looking for a change of pace, but a club was familiar and she catches a second wind as her steps slow in pace, smelling a delicious aroma heavy in the sunny afternoon air. she raises her head from the phone, looking around to locate the source of the smell. she continues forward, looking in the window of a small business. a makeshift sign taped on the glass reads, “the bear”, name underlined, and “help wanted”. she puts her phone back into her pocket, no longer curious about the club she had found. she opens the front door, entering the small establishment and letting her senses be overtaken by the mouth watering scent emanating from the kitchen. the push of the door rings a small bell, and after being inside alone for a few moments, a tall man comes from the kitchen to stand behind the counter. 

“hey, sweetheart, we’re closed for dinner prep. you can come back in an hour.” he tells her, voice booming. she offers him a smile, approaching the counter. 

“i’m actually here for the help wanted sign. are you guys taking applications?” she asks, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. 

the man lets out a hardy laugh, “you wanna work here? what, victoria’s secret isn’t hiring?” he asks her, scanning her up and down. her small smile drops, rolling her eyes. 

“never mind,” she goes to turn, leave, and take her chances with the club nearby. 

“ah, hey, hey, hey, wait,” he calls after her, “i’m sorry, i’m being an asshole.”

 she shrugs, not entirely disagreeing. he puts a hand out, gesturing to stay, “wait right here and i’ll get carmy.” the tall man disappears behind the kitchen doors, and she takes a quick opportunity to look around, noting the old fashioned decor, a few parts of the restaurant seemingly in renovation. it was noticeably smaller than her old workplace, but harbored a cozy feel, the bustle of the kitchen softly filtering throughout the lobby. she took a copy of her resume out of the small tote bag she was carrying, setting it on the island in front of her. she hears motion, the kitchen doors swinging open and a man clad in a white shirt and blue apron emerges. he approaches her, separated by the counter.

“hey,” he calls, taking her in, slightly, “you, uh, here to apply?”

holy shit, she feels her throat tighten up, studying his face, strong stature, golden brown curls, “hi, yes i am! my name is -,” she introduces, sticking a hand out.

he takes it, momentarily noticing how cold her hands are. 

“carmy,” he returns, “it’s nice to meet you. you, uh, got a resume?” and lets go of her hand. 

she hands it to him, “here,” feeling slightly self conscious as he glances over it, thinking, is this supposed to be my boss? 

“you have a lot of service experience,” he notes, glancing up at her. 

“yeah,” she hesitates, “i’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for, but i’m a fast learner.”

“no, no, that’s actually what we would need, another front of house,” he responds, “we only have richie right now.”

she feels a light flutter of hope in her chest, encouraged by the reassurance of their lack of competence in the front. 

“are you working now? this last job dates back six months,” he asks, eyes double checking the paper. there was the dreaded question. she was hoping he wouldn’t notice, heat growing in her cheeks a bit. 

“um, yeah…i actually work over at ricky’s,” she admits, hesitantly. his eyes widen a bit, eyebrows raising. 

“i don’t dance, though,” she rushedly clarifies, “i bartend.” 

his eyebrows relax, and a smile creeps at his mouth in realization.

 “yeah, uh, that’s why i didn’t put it on there,” she says, gesturing to the resume he held, “everyone always thinks i’m a dancer.” 

he clears his throat, busying himself with the piece of paper in front of him for a moment before speaking. 

“you a student?” he asks, glancing up to see her nod, bright smile adorning her face. 

“i’m only taking what i can afford right now, which is like two classes, but yeah,” she explains. he doesn’t have reason for why his tongue feels tied, and the back of his neck hot. he shoves it away. 

“well, um, i probably can’t give you more than about 30 hours a week, at least to start. tips are yours to take home but they, uh, probably won’t compare to the tips at ricky’s,” he brings a finger up to his nose, scratching a phantom itch. the girl tilts her head a bit, smiling, “i’ll take that as a challenge,” she quips. a grin breaks his face, not doubting the personable girl. 

“so, uh, when can you start?” he asks. 

“as soon as possible,” she answers, increasingly eager to quit her bartending job. he looks to the side and behind him, towards the kitchen. 

“if you want, i can get you set up today,” he turns back to her, “i think we have some extra aprons in the back.” 

“wait, really?” she reassures, him nodding in response. she lets out a small squeak, clapping her hands, big smile on her face. 

she’s cute, he thinks to himself, watching her enthusiasm, very quickly trying to shake the thought away. don’t be weird, she’s working for you now. off limits. not to mention he knew he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, emotionally speaking. 

“is this okay to wear?” she asks, gesturing to her outfit and effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. he rakes his eyes downwards over her form, shamefully grateful for the opportunity. hugged by a tight white shirt and baggy jeans that hung to expose a long strip of her lower hips, connecting at her front and lower back. he tears his eyes back up to meet hers. 

“yeah, should be fine,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, “you won’t be working in the kitchen too much at first, so you don’t have to wear a uniform,” he tells her, putting his hands onto the counter, leaning into them slightly. 

“and just regular work clothes for my next shift?” she asks, finding herself also leaning forward to press her weight against the edge of the counter. he nods, “yeah,” a smirk creeps at the edges of his lips, “just uh, maybe not ricky’s attire,” glancing at the girl. she giggles. he thinks it sounds like bells chiming. 

“what?” she tries to sound surprised, “how am i supposed to make the same tips then?” a smile plays on her lips, meeting his eyes. he lets out a laugh, studying her face. 

“i think you’ll find a way,” he responds. the counter space between the two seemed much smaller than earlier, as now he could see her face in much finer detail. he studies it, briefly, then tears his eyes away, forcing himself to step back. he clears his throat,

“follow me,” and begins walking towards the kitchen, “we’ll try and find you an apron. and introduce you to everyone.” 

a slight feeling of nervousness as she trails behind, unsure what “everyone” will entail.

“okay,” she replies, and steps behind the counter. 

—

 he finds himself in his apartment that night, halfheartedly watching a rerun of an old sitcom on his small tv, his mind wandering back to her time again. he was oddly intrigued by her, wanting to get to know her better. it wasn’t just a physical thing—although she was easy on the eyes— it was her demeanor, sweet and gentle, that somehow immediately smoothed his edges. the staff all took an instant liking to her, welcoming her into the kitchen enthusiastically. sydney seemed happy to have another young woman in the restaurant, tina asking her about her university, richie making the occasional snide comment, but undeniably taking a liking to the new colleague. she made her way around the register system surprisingly fast without training, seamlessly taking orders with the exception of a few brief pauses. carmy kept an eye on the girl throughout the rest of the evening in case she needed him, watching her quickly adapt to the shift of environment. the dinner rush moved shockingly smooth, the large tip jar, empty while richie was manning the front, was halfway full at closing time. he was admittedly impressed with the young woman, trying hard to mentally discern between admiring and enamoring. it was almost as if a bright light had graced the restaurant that evening, leaving carmen with a lingering warm tingle throughout his body. 

he looks around his dark apartment, messy and congested, cigarettes overflowing the ashtray, dishes piling the sink. letting out a deep sigh and running his hand through his curls, he stands, shutting off the tv and making his way to the bedroom. he could clean everything up tomorrow, not that it would make much of a difference, he thinks. although the booming launch of the bear was incredibly uplifting to the chef, reassuring him of the sacrifices he made to keep mikey’s restaurant running, there was still a void carmen felt deep in his heart, growing increasingly apparent in his solitude. he often felt trapped inside of himself, wondering if this was just something he would have to learn to deal with, destined to be defined by his profession, wishing there there was a way he could give into his personal desires while maintaining his professional growth. he crawls into bed and shuts off his lamp light. 

you can’t have your cake and eat it too, a saying he heard from his mom as a kid. he shuts his eyes. 

—                        

fuck. she takes an uneasy breath, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. turning on the faucet, wetting her palms in cold water and bringing the shaky hands to both sides of her face. 

why am i so nervous? 

she wondered if everyone felt this way before a hookup, focusing on deep breaths to calm her nerves. she wasn’t used to this. she had only ever been intimate within relationships, not having experience with casual encounters, nevertheless ones involving her boss. she knew it was a risky pursuit, especially for being a girl with an easily breakable heart, having shed many tears over lovers prior. nevertheless, something about the pull she felt to carmen was magnetic. he was strong, dominant, confident in his work, yet deeply complicated, a dull sadness within his striking eyes. he seemed the type of person to consistently be bearing the heaviest load on his back, and she had an inexplicable urge to relieve him of this, even if only for a moment. she wanted to watch him in bliss at her own control. just have to make sure it doesn’t go too far, she consistently reminds herself. she studies herself in the mirror, skinny straps of a short white sundress peak out from underneath her hair. a dress she specifically chose for him, adorning her exposed chest with a simple gold necklace. she ultimately was aiming to be comfortable for the night, yet each item was intentionally selected with a certain set of eyes in mind. 

i can do it. i’m going to have fun tonight, she tells herself, and potentially fuck my incredibly hot boss, warming at the thought, then i’m never ever gonna think about him again, she internalizes, having had enough with wasted energy on dead end flings. 

she smoothes out the white dress, satisfied with how it hugs her figure, then exits the small bathroom, making her way into her living room. the clock in the adjacent kitchen reads 11:13, and she makes her way to the large window to watch for carmy’s car. she felt erratic, heart palpitating in her chest at each set of headlights that drove by. she opens the window a few inches, breathing in the warm summer night to try and calm her increasing nervousness. it does work, a bit, and she’s able to even out her breathing before leaving. after a moment, a car slowly drives up to the pavement in front of her apartment and stops, engine idling. her phone vibrates on the counter, and she picks it up. 

carmy: i’m here. 

her heart does a leap in her chest, grabbing her keys and turning off the light before opening her front door and walking outside, locking it behind her. she feels slightly self conscious in the headlights while approaching his car, hearing the click of the passenger’s door being pushed open for her. she grabs the door, pulling it all the way open. 

“hi,” she greets, a bit shy. 

“hey,” he replies warmly, silently taking her image in. she climbs into the car and shuts the door behind her, noticing the clean car’s lack of trash and empty ashtray, differing from the previous night. she meets his eyes, a fluttering in her chest. he looks tired, lids low and white shirt wrinkled, but still has a spark in his eyes, clearly admiring the girl’s presentation. he turns his head back in front of him, breaking the eye contact and putting the car into drive. 

“how was close?” she breaks the silence with, noticing the way his eyes flicker back over to her.  

“long,” he admits, “harder without you there.” 

her heart jumps against her ribs, face growing warm at the slight praise. 

“what? you mean richie isn’t the best front of house closer ever?” she feigns surprise, smiling at the thought.

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head, and she softly giggles at this. the lull of the tires against the road fills her ears, noting the limited cars out at this time. her nerves have significantly calmed from before, but she still feels a knot in her stomach, amplified by the light smell of his cologne within the confined space. 

“are you, uh… are you hungry?” he asks her, eyes trained front. she pauses a moment, debating whether she is hungry or the gnawing feeling in her stomach is from nerves alone. 

“yeah,” she replies, “i am.” she wasn’t going to turn down a personal meal from a world class chef, and the thought of him cooking for her before anything else spreads a warmth throughout her chest. 

“good,” a small smile on his face, “i’ll make us somethin’.”

carmen couldn’t help but feel excitement bloom in his chest at the prospect of spending time alone with the young woman, having spent the day at the restaurant mentally preparing for the night. he had been chopping onions before the dinner rush when she closely brushed behind him in the confined space. he was able to smell her sweet perfume, triggering an image of her to flash across his mind— kneeled, lips parted, face flushed, chest bare, leaning into his hands— the knife slipped and he sliced the side of his finger, cursing an obscenity as soon as it happened. he dropped the knife on the cutting board, walking over to the sink, mentally cursing himself for allowing the to perverse thoughts to bleed over into his work, as he promised himself many times they wouldn’t. the bleeding of his finger had stopped quickly under the cool stream of water to reveal a small nick. he was able to put a bandaid on it and get directly back to work, but it plagued him a bit. he wondered if would he be able to maintain the professional kitchen environment in the long run, once the two were satisfied with the fun they’d had. it had proved difficult so far, thoughts of her swarming his head uncontrollably since she had stepped foot into his restaurant. 

the car slows, pulling up to the curb outside carmen’s apartment complex. he pushes the gear shift into park, turning off the engine. 

“this is you?” she asks, to which he nods. “you live closer than i thought you did,” she chimes, opening the door to step out of the car. she smooths the white dress, glancing around the complex. he comes up behind the girl, pressing a hand to the small of her back. 

“this way,” he says, ushering her forward. she can’t help but focus on the warmth of his hand, large and encompassing against her thinly clothed skin. they enter the building, taking the long flight of stairs up to his home, carmy desperately trying to look anywhere else besides the length of her legs leading up to the soft skin of her ass, fully visible as she climbs in front of him. they speedily make it to the top, carmen rustling in his front pocket for the keys. he swings the door open to a dark room, stepping in and flicking on a lamp switch. she follows him in, eyes scanning her surroundings. it was clean and tidy, with piles of various cook books stacked on side tables and a knitted green blanket draped over the old couch. the place smelled like him, and she feels her muscles relax. 

“i know it’s not much, but uh,” he shuts the door, “make yourself at home, please.”

she gives him a big smile, “it’s cute. just what i imagined,” and puts her belongings on a side table, walking around to examine the space. he feels the edges of his lips twitch at her response, watching her look at the scarcity of the place. she spins around, facing him, “you’re really clean, too.” she sounds impressed. 

he smiles at this, appreciating the assumption. 

“it’s not always like this,” he responds truthfully. she lets out a soft laugh and saunters over towards the kitchen island, pushing herself up to sit on the stool he had. he walks to the opposite side of the counter, opening the fridge to gather various ingredients for their dinner. 

“what are you gonna make?” she curiously asks. 

“just uh,” he pauses, looking for an item, “something quick.” he straightens, carrying the ingredients to the counter. he meets her eyes, the two separated by a few feet of laminate, and he feels his chest constrict under her gaze. “some roasted chicken and veggies, with a garlic herb butter,” he turns back to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine, beginning to look for a corkscrew. 

“fuck,” she breathes out, “that sounds so good.” 

carmy tenses, stilling for a moment. he loved the way her voice sounded, wanted to hear more. it was apparent he was tightly strung from the grueling week, feeling reactive to everything she said. he pulls the corkscrew out from a drawer, opening the fresh bottle and grabbing two glasses. 

“you want some?” he asks her, holding it up. 

she nods, “yes, please,” eager for a bit of liquid encouragement. he fills the two glasses halfway, handing her one and bringing the side of his glass to clink against hers.

“cheers for making it through the week,” he toasts, earning a giggle from her. 

“cheers! and,” she continues, tilting her head, “cheers for richie not seeing my tits when i was in your office,” she grins and takes a slow sip of the wine, maintaining their eye contact. he lets out a breathy laugh, raising his wine glass to his lips, “yeah, i’ll cheers to that,” and drinks, the red wine dry on his lips. 

with both of their plates empty and the girl’s warm praise still lingering in the room, carmen drinks the remaining wine from his third glass, feeling calm and airy. the apartment is hot and fragrant from the cooking, and the young man notices a pinch of want in the back of his mind, wondering where he had put his cigarettes. 

“do you mind if i go smoke?” he asks her, wine weighing on his tongue. she smiles a bit, shaking her head.

“i’ll go with you,” her voice a bit lower and more drawn out than he would regularly hear it. he nods, standing and walking towards the bedroom to look for a pack of cigarettes. 

“i don’t have a balcony,” he calls from his room, opening his nightstand drawer, “but we can step out onto the fire escape for a bit,” he grabs his carton out of the dresser. carmy walks back into the room to find the girl standing, peering out his window at the black grated fire escape structure. he leans beside her to unlock the window, pushing it open. he puts one leg through, ducks, then steps out, offering a hand for the girl. she takes it, hand small in his, and repeats his actions, noticing a definitive impairment as she joins him outside. 

the night was warm and humid, chicago air damp with the summer monsoon. it smelled good outside, though, air fresh with recent rain, a mellow hum of cicada sounding throughout the trees. carmy flips the carton open, placing a filter between his lips and illuminating his face with the orange of the lighter’s flame. she runs her eyes over his features while they’re briefly lit up, finding herself in a close proximity to him, the two leaning up against the iron railing. she brushes her hair back behind her shoulders, watching the man smoke. the few glasses of wine she had clouded her previous anxieties. she genuinely couldn’t remember what she was worried about now, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the man in front of her. she leans into him, pressing the side of her hip into his thigh, arm flush against his. 

“can i have some?” she asks, staring up at him, glancing down at the cigarette. she didn’t know exactly what it was, the alcohol or him looking so attractive with a cancer stick in his mouth, but she felt compelled to give it another try, having a distaste from previous experience. he turns to face her, gazes locking, a glint of surprise behind his eyes. 

“sure,” he answers, remaining still, pointer and middle finger loosely grasping the cigarette. he glances at her expectantly and she leans over, bringing her mouth to the filter, lips brushing the tips of his fingers. she sucks, carmen watching, completely entranced, then stands upright again, exhaling the smoke with a slight furrow in her brow. the man lets a slight smirk break his face, bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth and inhaling. he studies the dark street behind his building, sporadically illuminated by the soft glow of a street lamp, tiredness catching up with him. she keeps her eyes trained on the man, trailing from his face down his body. she stops at his arms, admiring the sheer strength of them, tracing her sights over his various tattoos. she almost felt overtaken by want in that moment, darting her eyes back up to his lips wrapped around the cigarette. the young woman leans into him further, more of her body touching his and now facing him directly, tipsiness slightly clouding her rationality. 

“carm,” she breathes out, immediately catching his attention. he gazes down at her, cognisant of her breasts pushed against his side, studying her face to find desire written across her features. she brings a hand to his chest, leaning up and gently kissing his neck. she feels his sharp intake of breath under her body, and she smirks at this, placing a few more gentle kisses around the side of his neck. the two had a strict rule about kissing on the lips, but never made the clear distinction to forbid all types of kissing, carmy not daring to protest. his eyes fall closed, focused on the heat of her lips against his neck, the weight of her body on his. he throws the cigarette to the ground, wrapping an arm around her, sliding his fingers up her back and to the base of her skull, carding his fingers through her hair. she nips his neck suddenly, causing him to instinctively tighten his grip, pulling the hair, emanating a breathy moan from the girl. his mouth falls open, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. wrapping his other arm around her back, hand grabbing her hip, he pulls their bodies closer together. carmen’s tight grip doesn’t falter, pulling her head back to see her face, her eyes trailing upwards to meet his. she studies his blown pupils, him drinking her in as if she were a desert oasis. her face is flushed, lids heavy, eyes locked onto his. he leans in and pulls her simultaneously, lightly putting his forehead against hers, noses touching, lips twitching. she can smell the smoke on his breath combined with his fresh deodorant. she finds herself completely intoxicated by this, tightly shutting her eyes, unsure of what she’ll do if she continues to stare. she feels his breath, warm on her lips, so desperate for contact. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice a low rumble. 

she gently nods, nose brushing against his, not trusting her voice. a slight tug makes her softly gasp, eyes snapping open. he pulls away, but only slightly. “answer me,” the sound of his voice weakening her knees. he scans his eyes over her face.

“yes,” she breathes out, sounding far more sultry than she intended, “i really like it, carm,” she admits, tone needy. he pulls away from her completely, the girl missing the warmth from his face almost instantly. 

“get inside,” he growls, releasing her hair and removing his arm, leaning over and shoving the window open. 

she takes a second to collect herself, almost dizzy from the eye contact and the growing heat under her dress. she puts her hand on the window ledge, climbing back into the apartment as quickly as she could. carmy follows behind, shutting the window halfway. he eyes the girl, standing by the edge of the counter, then walks past her to the couch, sitting in the middle, leaning back. she shifts, unsure of what to do, her hazed courage of earlier fading. 

“c’mere,” he gestures her over. 

she slowly walks towards him, coming to stand in front of him in between his seated legs, front of her shins bumping into the sofa. he leans forward, bringing his strong hands to caress the back of her thighs, admiring the silkiness of her skin, trailing his palms up and towards the curve of her ass, softly kneading the skin, then stopping. 

“take this off,” he commands, squeezing. her face reddens, inching her hands down to the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up her thighs. she pauses, before flipping the edge up over her head, taking the dress off completely. he softly groans at the sight, fabric removed to reveal her bare body, clothed only by a pair of skinny black panties. she drops it on the floor, shyly bringing her arms up to cover her breasts. he leans closer to her, pressing a kiss to her navel, bringing his hands up to grab her hips. he marvels at her exposed skin, feeling close to primal with desire, tempted to pull her onto his lap and shove the panties to the side. 

should i?

he glances upwards at her, a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. he slides his left hand down to her the back of her lower thigh, then quickly pulls her body towards him, the girl letting out a sound of surprise, straddling his lap. he pushes her knees open more, hand trailing towards her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin, moving closer to kiss her neck. she lets out a quiet, “yes,” as she leans into the man’s touch, hoping for some release. his fingers brush against the fabric of her clothed mound, making her buck her hips forward a bit. 

“want me to touch you?” he asks her, voice low in tone. she quickly nods her head, biting down on her lip to prevent any escaping noise. he brings his pointer finger to her clothed slit, dragging it up and down over the sensitive area a few times, noticing the abundant slickness beneath the fabric. her eyes flutter closed, cherishing the delicate contact, craving far more. carmen watches her closely, pulling his hand away. her brow furrows, to which he smiles. bringing his left hand from her thigh, he grabs the black panties and pulls them to the side, exposing her glistening core. he groans at the sight, the girls face flushing, bringing his thumb to rest on her swollen clit, unmoving. she whimpers at the sensitivity, bucking her hips forward once more, to which he tightens his grip on her thigh in response. he starts rubbing small, torturous circles with his thumb, thoroughly enjoying the reaction of her body, heat eminating from between her legs, juices dripping down the insides of her thighs and down onto his pants. 

“you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he tells her, cock straining against his pants. she’s too embarrassed to respond, closing her eyes and throwing her arms over carmen’s shoulders, resting her face in the crevice of his neck as he continues his circles at a faster pace, dipping his middle finger down to rest against her opening. she kisses his neck, needy for more and tired of waiting, giving a thrust of her hips to sink herself onto his finger. she releases a drawn out moan, clenching around the soaked digit. 

“fuck,” he curses. 

a sharp smack lands on her thigh, the girl softly whimpering in response, coming back up to meet carmen’s eyes. he has a stern look on his face, a glint of enjoyment present.

“you want me inside of you that bad?” he questions, beginning a soft curling motion with his finger, loving the way she begins to fall apart. 

“yesss,” she pleads, breathing heavily, trying to get closer to him, her hand coming up to the base of his neck to anchor herself. he increases the pace, bringing his thumb back to circle the bundle of nerves. feeling her relax at the pleasure, he pushes a second finger into her, marveling at the hot constriction of her walls. his pulses become rhythmic, middle and ring finger fucking into her, a wet squelching sound beginning to fill the room. her panting moans uncontrollably increase in crescendo, quickly clamping her teeth down to bite her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. he studies her face, closely— eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, trying to seem less affected by his fingers than she obviously is. 

his eyes trail down to her bare chest, nipples perked. 

jesus christ

carmy slows the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper now. he shifts, bringing his lips to brush against her right breast, trailing upwards to her nipple, gently sucking the bud into his mouth. 

her teeth release from her lips, letting out a whimper from the pleasure. 

he smirks a little, motivated from the noise, taking his fingers almost completely out and easing them back in entirely. his thumb continues its feather like circles around her clit, carmy teasing a gentle bite to her nipple. obscene sounds plentifully spill from her mouth, leaning forward into him as he comes up from her breast. her eyes open and lock with his,

“oh my god, yes,” she cries, breath increasingly heavy, his slow fingers bringing her to the edge. a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as he continues the same movements, watching her approach her climax, eyes shutting tightly, head leaning back. 

“please don’t stop,” her words come rushed, “i’m-“ 

he withdraws his fingers from inside of her, removing his hand from her warmth completely. she lifts her head immediately and looks to the man, confusion and frustration apparent on her face. he lets his smirk grow. 

“what?” he asks, watching her brows furrow further, “did you think i was gonna let you cum?” he asks as he grips her thighs. 

“you’re cruel,” she whines, head falling against his shoulder. 

“yeah?” the smirk on his face was prevalent in his tone. she shifts the placement of her head and comes to gently kiss the bottom of his neck, the hand resting on his chest slowly inching down his stomach and caressing the skin that meets the edge of his pants.

“yeah,” she responds. another kiss to his neck, this one higher up. she sits up slightly to move her hands lower, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. she goes to greedily pull the waist band of his underwear, and he stops her, grabbing her wrist. 

“get down on your knees,” he commands, voice rough. she feels a surge of excitement run through her, easing herself to the ground between his legs, eager to inflict on him the pleasure she endured moments earlier, a dull ache residing in her core. she helps him pull his jeans down around his ankles, him kicking them off completely. she runs her hands over the tops of his strong thighs, then bringing her lips to trail kisses from his lower to upper thigh, teasing closer and closer to his clothed bulge, straining against the fabric. he sits up, slightly, pulling his shirt off over his head. she could swear her mouth watered at the sight, shamelessly gawking at his broad muscles completely exposed, along with tattoos she’s never had the pleasure of seeing. she rubs the palm of her hand over the solid bulge, inching towards the waistband of his briefs. in a fluid motion she quickly peels them towards her, carmy’s cock springing from the confinement and slapping against his stomach. she can’t help but let out a soft moan at the sight, bringing a hand up to grasp the base of his cock, thick and heavy in her hand. the young woman marvels, a bit. 

“it’s big,” she observes, glancing up at him, then back down. she slowly jerks her hand up and down a few times, nervously eyeing the length. she leans forward, placing a hand on his thigh, and licking a long stripe up the side of his cock, then softly kisses the tip, brushing the head against her plumped lips. she looks up at the man’s face, jaw clenched and eyes completely fixated on her. she flattens her tongue and licks the head of his penis, swirling it around the tip. when she locks eyes with him and grins at him, tongue on his cock, he nearly explodes, throwing his head back against the couch and groaning. she presses her bare breasts against his thighs, now engulfing his length in her mouth, slowly moving up and down, hand wrapping around to stroke what she can’t fit. he grunts, bringing his hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckles for composure. she falls into a pace, saliva coating his cock, dripping onto his stomach. she forces her mouth down deeper onto him, gagging, tears brimming her eyes. 

“fuck!” he exclaims, jolting forward. he grabs her hair, gathering it with his hands to keep it out of the way, using every ounce of resistance he has to keep from pushing her head down further onto him. she sinks her mouth lower, bobbing her head and quickening her pace. he tightens his grip on her hair and says her name. she looks up in inquiry, releasing him from her mouth with a wet pop. she continues to stroke his length, meeting his eyes. 

“stand up,” he tells the girl, her immediately complying and getting up, wiping the spit away from her mouth. he comes to lean forward, eye level with her stomach, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties and removing them altogether. he looks up to her. 

“go get on the bed,” watching her quickly nod and turn towards his bedroom, standing and following the girl, both of them stark in their nudity. his eyes fall to her round ass, bringing a hand up to give it a small smack. she lets out a little yelp in surprise, turning over her shoulder to find a grin on his face. upon entering the dark room, carmy walks to the end of the bed, switching on a lamp on his dresser. the girl crawls onto the bed, flipping to lay on her back, resting her head on his pillow. she watches him from across the room, raising a knee to stack and bringing her hand up to her chest. she runs her thumb over her perked nipple, tracing her free hand down her navel to the crease of her thigh, staring at the man. he turns to her, raking his eyes over her laying form. her hand shifts lower, fingers brushing over her slickened clit, letting out a soft gasp. she arches her back slightly, rubbing small, soft circles over her sensitivity, locking eyes with the man. 

jesus fuck, he internalizes, praying to god this image would remain forever burned into his brain, cock twitching. 

there was something about the man that completely diminished her inhibitions, allowing her to fully submit to her desires and finding her brain instantly numb at his control. she tweaks her nipple, letting out a moan, face flushing, lips parting to speak. 

“come fuck me already, carmy,” she breathes out, movements faltering. he immediately reacts, getting onto the bed, hands hooking under her thighs and pulling her lower body flush to his, his cock laying over her pelvis.

“can’t wait anymore?” he asks lowly, fully knowing his own desire is immeasurable, desperate to be inside of her. 

“no,” she whines, bucking her hips and unintentionally spreading her slickness over the bottom of his length. he lets out a strained breath, running his thumb over her hipbones, grip tightening. he pulls back, then slowly thrusts forward to glide through her folds, feeling her grow increasingly wet. he moves back slightly, now gripping his cock and giving it a stroke, pressing it against her opening. he shifts his hips, slowly inserting the head. he looks to her, meeting her eyes. 

“this ok?” he asks, scanning her face, watching her nod enthusiastically. 

“put it in, please,” she pleads. 

he pushes his hips forward, sinking inside of her inch by inch. the two watch the sight, entranced, a harmonious moan ripping through the both of them. buried to the hilt, carmy pauses, coming forward to lean over her— resting his right forearm by her head, his left arm wrapping around her leg and hoisting it up over his lower back. she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in further. his thrusts start slow and shallow, face buried in her neck, almost in disbelief of the pleasure, so much better than those dreams. he bottoms out, hearing her gasp. 

“you feel,” she breathes out, “so good,” her eyes screwing shut. he thrusts, again, slowly, moving his hand to grip her ass. 

“fuck, baby” he groans into her neck, hips working at a delicate pace. she clenches involuntarily at the name, eager for more, urging him closer with her leg. he recognizes the cue, bringing his leg in closer, pulling out almost completely then plunging back into her. she pants, bringing a shaky hand up to grab his sturdy bicep for stability, feeling his strong muscles ripple underneath her grip. he bites down on his bottom lip, face and chest flushed as he pulls his cock back out of her tightness, thoroughly enjoying the view. he snaps his hips forward, the girl crying out, squeezing his arm tightly. carmen settles into a heightened pace, the depth of his cock igniting a fire within the girl. she moves a hand down and circles her sensitive clit with two fingers, feeling her orgasm already rapidly building as he lifts her lower back slightly off the mattress, driving into her harder. breaths grow heavy, the room gets hotter, skin slaps against skin. he brings his hand up to the side of her face, coming to hover above her, locking eyes. her whole face is flush, baby hairs sticking up, a wild lust in her gaze. carmy snaps his hips harder. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her in pace with his thrusts, the girl letting out a moan in response, ripping her hand away from her clit as to not fall over the peak. everything is almost too much as the man relentlessly fucks her, savoring every sound, feeling, sight, not knowing if this would ever happen again. her climax approaches closer with each strong thrust of his hips, and she feels compelled to ask permission. 

“carmy,” she whimpers, “can i please cum?”

he groans, moving his hand to rest on her throat. 

“hold on baby, almost,” he grits through his clenched jaw, driving his cock deeply into her, slick juices spreading everywhere. she brings her hand to the back of his neck, grabbing his curly brown locks and tugging. he lets out a sharp breath at the action, hammering his hips against her, hoisting her leg a bit higher. his thrusts stutter, feeling himself grow impossibly closer to the edge. her moans become a chorus of “please, please, please,” desperate to cum around his cock. he grins slightly at her anticipation, lightly putting pressure against her throat. 

“you gonna cum for me?” he growls, feeling himself approaching his own orgasm. she nods, tears brimming her eyes, face contorted in pleasure. his simple words snap the final string holding her together, and she comes undone with a loud cry, digging her nails into his back. the pleasure feels white hot throughout her body, waves of euphoria overtaking her. her body shivers, the clenching of her heat around carmen is enough to push him over his edge as he lets out a strangled moan, hot cum shooting into her, cock pulsing against her walls. they both lay there still, riding out the aftershocks together, bodies flush. they both catch their breaths for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other. carmy pushes himself up onto his forearm, grabbing her face with a strong hand and planting a kiss on her cheek, then one on her forehead. she tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt inside of her. he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues, then slowly pulls out of her, his cum spilling down the curve of her ass. he gently cleans her up with the tissue, walking to the bathroom to throw them away once she’s dry. he returns to his room to see her sprawled onto her side, laying over his pillows. he joins in, laying next to her, scooting his strong arm under her head. she scoots closer to him, hand on his chest. he’s warm, smells good, feels safe, and she finds her eyes close for a moment. 

“i’ll leave in just a sec,” she tells him softly, “i’m just so comfy.”

he wraps his other arm around her, kissing her forehead once more. 

“stay the night,” he suggests, knowing it’s for a selfish reason, currently unable to fathom sleeping in a cold and empty bed without her presence. she happily hums in response, snuggling closer, already feeling herself drifting off. he closely watches the girl laying in his arms, eyes flickering over her face. he admires her features up close, examining what he’s usually too far away to see, running his eyes over a few faded freckles, the light peach fuzz on her cheek, the glimmer of a golden nose ring. he feels a twinge in his chest, resting his forehead against the sleeping girl’s, her deep breathing melodic to his tired ears. carmy knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to entertain this forever, opting to cherish the feeling of her against him while it lasts. he reaches to the foot of the bed, pulling a throw blanket up over the two of them, not bothering to shut off the lamp. he feels a sweet relief once he pulls her into him once more, nuzzling his nose into her hair. he shuts his eyes, the events from the day catching up to him. 

he finds the last thing he thinks about before drifting into sleep is her, sweet and airy, breathing in her scent closely. he hears a dreamlike giggle, reminiscent of bells chiming, and smiles softly. 

— 

i hope you enjoyed! writing for these two gives me the butterflies fr

chapter 3 hopefully in the works! <33 if you enjoy please let me know :)

part 3 - human, for a minute

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

[slavicviking]

Yellow

@steddiemicrofic December prompt: pine | wc: 508 | G | cw: none | tags: misunderstandings, pre-Steddie

“Looking good, Nance. Did you do something with your hair?” Nancy did not. She knew for a fact her curls looked worse for wear thanks to the raging wind outside. Steve knew that, too – had to, with his in-depth knowledge of maintaining hair, curls or not. Eddie stiffens next to her. “I’m here to return this,” Nancy pulls out a Breakfast Club tape from her bag with a forced smile. “Great movie choice,” Steve trudges on with otherwise admirable perseverance. The ugly green Family Video creases inelegantly as he leans forward. “I think it sucks,” Eddie jumps in. He grins but Nancy knows him well enough to tell how tense he really is. And isn’t that a wild thought in itself? Nancy would never expect to get along so well with Eddie Munson and yet here he was, dare she say it - her best friend at the moment. Steve lets out a nervous laugh, red dotting his cheeks as his hand ventures out to rub his neck. Robin’s bright eyes keep darting back and forth between two boys, an unreadable look on her face. “This is getting ridiculous,” Nancy says once she slips into the driver seat of her car. Eddie joins her on the other side, uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyebrows drop lower. “He’ll get over it soon. You’ll see.” “I don’t know, Wheeler. He seems pretty dedicated.” The thing is, Nancy’s observant. She pays attention to her close circle of friends, and that includes Steve. Something about this isn’t adding up – the compliments, the showering with attention. And it’s not only because she’s usually left with a morose Eddie, unfairly pining away, in the aftermath. It’s been going on for weeks now. Something’s got to give, eventually, she’s sure. It does, a week later, when Steve Harrington knocks on the Wheelers’ front door in the middle of the day, clad in an ironed shirt and beige khakis. “Here,” he hands her a bouquet of yellow roses. “They’re for you.” She makes a point of not taking them. They hang awkwardly between them until Steve drops his hand with a grimace. “We’re not getting back together,” Nancy tells him bluntly. Steve’s a good guy, he is, but he can be a bit obtuse sometimes. To her surprise, Steve doesn’t deter her. Instead, he blinks. “What?” “It’s sweet that you’re trying,” she tries. “But we wouldn’t work out. We just wouldn’t.” He blinks again. “I don’t-uh. This is awkward.” Understatement if she’s ever seen one. “I don’t want to date you, Nancy,” Steve finally says. He winces before adding. “No offense.” “Then what’s with this?” she points to the flowers. “The compliments? All of it?” He sighs. “I know we didn’t really end on good terms. And your opinion matters to him- I mean, he's just so-” “Him?” Nancy questions before realization dawns on her. “Eddie?” “Wait, does he think I – shit!” Steve’s eyes grow wide as he shoves the flowers into Nancy’s chest and backs out towards the car. “Shit! Sorry, Nance. Gotta go!”

Yellow Roses are the symbol of friendship <3

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficdecember #poor stevie just wants to mend his friendship with nancy but accidentally turns on flirting mode #steve to nancy: you look great today #steve to robin later: why didn't eddie want to look at me :c #another case of 'scenes i imagine in my steve/oc universe that will never see the light of day'

[fazedlight]

Irish (soft season 6 ficlet)

Kara knew something was wrong.

Not dangerous wrong. Lena’s heart rate was steady and calm, and there was no one else in the apartment with her. But as Kara flew above the few buildings left to her apartment, she could see how Lena was hunched over, see the stress and sadness in her body. And it made Kara’s heart ache.

Landing in the open window, Kara stepped inside, the small taps alerting Lena to her entrance. “Kara,” Lena said, trying to hide the distress on her face as she rose from the couch, grabbing at VHS tapes spread in front of the TV. “You’re home early.”

“They put out the fire before I got there,” Kara said softly. “The winds weren’t as bad as they thought.”

Lena nodded, hurriedly placing the pile of tapes into a familiar box. Kara had flown the box back to National City herself - one of the many artifacts carried over from Lena’s mother’s home, which Lena inherited at the age of 18. Lena had only gone once or twice as an adult, until the discovery of her magic made her curious to reconnect to what she could of her mother. “Are you okay?” Kara asked.

“I’m fine,” Lena said.

“Lena.” Kara stepped forward, kneeling on the rug, gently taking Lena’s busy hands into her own. “Lena, I’m here.”

Lena paused, leaving the remaining tapes next to the TV, taking a slow breath as she dropped back to sit on the floorboards instead. “I just didn’t expect to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

Lena stared down at the floor, not quite ready to look Kara in the eye. “I was so young. There’s so much I don’t remember.”

Kara took a seat in front of her, still holding Lena’s hands. She waited patiently - silent, and comforting, letting Lena take her time to think or talk as she wished.

“In one of the tapes,” Lena said, her voice a touch deeper than normal, “She sang an Irish lullaby. I haven’t heard it in decades. The melody slammed back into me.”

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Kara said.

“She spoke to me. In Irish. She spoke to me, and I didn’t understand what she was saying,” Lena said, frustrated. “And in the tape, I spoke back, and I didn’t understand what I was saying. It’s all gone.”

And that’s when Kara stiffened, a bolt of lightning running through her as she understood. It was different in her case, of course - she had once thought herself the last to speak a language, carrying a dead culture in her soul. Through sheer luck, she was able to get her father, her mother, her people back - but the feeling of being orphaned, she understood, if in a different way than Lena. “The Luthors don’t speak Irish,” Kara replied.

“Language attrition is common in children who stop speaking their first language before the age of 12,” Lena said softly, in a tone that made Kara realize that Lena must’ve read about this a dozen times before. “I didn’t know what I was losing until it was too late.”

“Lena,” Kara said, leaning forward to give the brunette a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it sounds so silly,” Lena said. “It’s not like I have much need to speak Irish.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t mourn what you’ve lost,” Kara said, thinking back to a million conversations she’d had with Kelly about her own traumas, even if later they were reversed by fate. “You can still be sad about it.”

Lena sighed, melting into Kara’s arms, and Kara felt relieved. They sat, wrapped in each other’s embrace and breathing in the peace of the evening, Kara rubbing gently at Lena’s back until Lena was ready. “Well, I can put the rest of this away,” Lena said, pulling back, her voice steady for the first time that evening. “We can start cooking dinner.”

Kara nodded, watching as Lena gazed back - a bit mournful, a bit sad, but a certain lightness compared to before. “If it helps,” Kara said gently, with one last thought, “I can learn Irish with you? It may not be like before, but sometimes getting some of the pieces back can mean something.”

Lena looked at her for a moment, before smiling. “I’d like that.”

#I have been trying to draft this all weekend and it kept coming out awful and I kept deleting #and then this spilled out of me in about 20 minutes #definitely projecting here. I was bullied out of my first language. #anyway #is this hurt/comfort? I still don't quite know what that is #supercorp #supercorp fic #supercorp ficlet #mel writes ficlets

[coldfanbou]

Ruining the Tiger

Chaeyoung's first solo fic on my blog! Our tiger gets a little rough sex for her first outing.

Length 2.1K

Chaeyoung X Mreader

Chaeyoung sat across from you, a sweet smile on her lips as she kicked her feet. “The ocean is beautiful, isn’t it?” She asks, trying to make conversation. You agree with it and turn your head toward it; the view is a bright orange that turns a deeper hue as it begins to set. 

“We should get going; it's going to be dark soon.” You and Chaeyoung stand up and begin heading to your hotel room.  She wraps her arm around yours and looks up at you. You cock your head to the side and give her a questioning look. Chaeyoung holds her fist up and bears her teeth at you. Her actions make you laugh, and you pull her in closer. You feel Chaeyoung give you a slight hug before continuing to your hotel room.

So far, your vacation together has been great; you explored the Hawaiian islands and all they had to offer. You were just missing one thing, and that was sex. You and Chaeyoung had agreed to hold off on your urges until the final night. You both wanted to go all out, and tonight was the night.

You felt Chaeyoung press her chest to your arm, her small tits rubbing against you. “You really can’t wait any longer?” You ask teasingly. She responds with a low whine.

“I just want to do it already. Fingering myself isn’t enough, and I don’t want to use any toys.” Chaeyoung presses her lips together and gives you a pleading look. “Don’t you want to have sex?” She says innocently. Chaeyoung leans forward, giving you a better look at her chest as her yellow bikini hangs just a little loose. 

“I don’t think you have the chest to pull that move, Chae.” Chaeyoung’s mouth hangs open, and she batters you with her tiny fists.

“You take that back!” You run ahead of Chaeyoung, turning around to see her chasing you. Her orange hair flows in the wind as she runs as fast as she can in her flip-flops. You come to a stop and let her run into you; your hands find their place around Chaeyoung’s thighs. You give them a squeeze as you lift her and hear her let out a moan.

“Looks like you’re sensitive, Chae.” 

“I…” Chaeyoung shakes her head, stopping her sentence. “Shut up. I just didn’t expect that.” You press your lips against Chaeyoung’s neck, and she cranes it back in response, letting you move as you desire. Your tongue sends shivers down Chaeyoung’s spine. Shyly, she whispers to you, “Let’s go to our room. I don’t want anyone to see.” You chuckle and put Chaeyoung down before returning to your room.

You close the door behind you and pat Chaeyoung’s head. “Kneel.” Chaeyoung happily kneeled in the middle of the living room. “I have a present for you; close your eyes.”

Chaeyoung wiggled in her kneeling position, her hands covering her eyes as she waited. “What is it?” She asked, wondering what you had for her. You place a box in front of her.

“Open your eyes.” In front of Chaeyoung was a box filled with toys, ranging from dildos and vibrators to handcuffs and ropes. Chaeyoung reaches into the box, looking through the many things inside. You reach down and grab a dark piece of fabric, putting it around her eyes. “A blindfold to start things off.” You tie it off and wave your hand in front of Chaeyoung, seeing if she responds to it. When she doesn’t, you lean in and tilt her head up to capture her lips. Chaeyoung reaches for the top of her swimsuit, but you move her hands away. You sit behind Chaeyoung, spreading her legs apart and searching through the box. Finding small egg vibrators and some tape, you turn them on. The sound of them hinting to Chaeyoung what you picked up. Attaching some tape to the vibrators, you slip them under Chaeyoung’s swimsuit, right against her nipple. This sends a shock to her system, her body jerking as she feels them rubbing against her. While she becomes accustomed to them, you move your hands down and unbutton the shorts she had on, reaching inside you more, your fingers along her slit. Your hand comes back wet, her juices on your finger. You move that hand to Chaeyoung’s lips, letting her suck on them as you use your other hand to slip off her shorts. Chase helps you along, raising her hips off the ground. 

Her whines flow freely as she pulls her back toward you. You grab a dildo from the box and tease her folds, moving it back and forth along them. “Noo, I want you inside.” She mumbles due to your fingers. You discard the dildo, tossing it to the floor as you get another idea. Replacing the dildo was a vibrator; you push the tip inside before turning it on. A high-pitched hum comes from Chaeyoung as she moves her legs inward. “No-” You squeeze Chaeyoung's mouth, keeping her from speaking.

“You’ll get my cock Chaeyoung, don’t you worry.” You push the vibrator deeper inside. It moves around inside her, rubbing against her walls and making her cry out in pleasure. You move the bottom of Chaeyoung’s swimsuit back into place, holding the vibrator inside. Her hips begin to rock as the vibrator does its job. You let go of Chaeyoung, telling her to kneel again. She struggles to stay upright, ending up on all fours as the vibrator is pushed deeper. You grab the rope and tie her hands together. While you have the time, you strip down and slap Chaeyoung’s face with your cock. She recognizes it immediately and opens her mouth, her tongue sticking out. With your cock in hand, you slap it against her tongue before moving it into her awaiting mouth. Chaeyoung’s moans are soon muffled as your cock slide in and out of her mouth. Her handcuffed arms rest against your thigh as the vibrators wrack her body with pleasure. You start pushing your cock down Chaeyoung’s throat once she gets her pace going. She welcomes it, holding onto your thigh so she can keep it down her throat. You pull away from her, watching as a string of saliva connects the tip of your cock to her lip, more of the stuff running down the sides of her mouth and dripping onto the floor below. Tiny bubbles of spit form as she eagerly waits for you to put your cock back in. You place your hand on her head and give Chaeyoung what she wants, ramming your cock into the back of her throat. You can feel the smile on her lips and moan her name. Chaeyoung gargles on your cock as her tongue slides along your cock. You can feel your orgasm coming as you push your cock down her throat. 

Chaeyoung is in heaven, her hips rocking back and forth quickly as she nears her climax. Chaeyoung mumbles, something you can’t understand as you speed up your thrusts. You’re slamming your cock into Chae as you approach your climax. You yank off Chaeyoung’s blindfold, leaving her hair a mess. You see her mascara running down her cheeks and her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The visual pushes you over the edge, and you begin cumming. You let Chaeyoung have a drink of your baby batter before pulling out and shooting the rest on her face. You watch Chaeyoung smile as your warm cum rains down on her face. Her hands move down to her slit, rubbing it through her swimsuit as she has her orgasm. Chaeyoung ends up with her face rubbing the ground as her upper body gives up. You walk behind Chaeyoung and notice the bottom of her swimsuit is completely ruined, soaked from her juices. You move it to the side and take out the vibrator, dropping it on the floor. Your hands wander along Chaeyoung’s ass, squeezing and making her moan weakly. You grab the whip, playfully swinging it in the air a couple of times before running along Chaeyoung’s bottom. The swimsuit, luckily, didn’t cover much of her ass, meaning the whip would leave marks on her. You saw Chaeyoung shudder as the leather ran across her ass. “Chaeyoung, I think you’ve been a naughty girl.”

“I’m a naughty girl that needs to be spanked,” She replies without a second thought. 

“I think you need to be more than spanked.” You tell her before whipping her right cheek. Chae cries out in pain from the hit before a low moan comes through. 

“I’ve been a very bad girl.” She groans before looking over her shoulder and shaking her ass for you. “Whip me, I deserve it.” You whip the same cheek; it starts becoming red, the whip’s tassels visible on her skin. “The other one, too.” She says, raising her other cheek toward you. The whip cracks as it hits Chaeyoung’s skin. She grits her teeth, moaning through the pain. You give her a few more smacks, enough to leave her ass completely red. Having had your fun with the whip, you pressed your cock against Chaeyoung’s pussy; her lips slick with her nectar. Chaeyoung lays her head against the floor and places her hands between her legs, spreading her lips for you. “Put it in. I want to feel you inside, ruin my pussy. Make it yours.” Chaeyoung’s words make you harder. You dig your hands into her waist and impale her, driving your cock into her depths in one motion. “Shit.” Chaeyoung groans as she feels your cock stretch her tiny cunt. “It’s so big.”

“Is it everything you wanted?”

“Yes,” She cries out. “Fuck me, fuck me.” She repeats. You pull back and ram yourself back in, her small body lurching forward. Chaeyoung’s tight walls squeeze down on you. She was slick, though, allowing you to slide right in. You felt yourself unwind. As you relax, you start moving quickly; Chaeyoung’s moans fill the room. You stir her insides with every thrust; her walls are poked and prodded. Holding Chaeyoung’s waist, you force her to stand up. Moving your hand down to the back of her thighs, you grab them and lift her while continuing to thrust. Her hand goes above her head as she wraps them behind your neck, trying to hold onto something as gravity brings her crashing down onto your cock. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a long mirror and turn to face it. Chaeyoung sees herself in the mirror. The bottom half of her swimsuit soaked in her own juices as your cock repeatedly impales her. As her eyes move upward, she spots the small bulges of the vibrators on her nipples; she had completely forgotten about them once she finally got a taste of your cock. Continuing on, she saw the drying saliva running down her chin and a mixture of cum and mascara covering her face. It all turned her on so much.

 Chaeyoung moved her hands to her clit and moaned your name as she furiously rubbed it. Chaeyoung pushed herself over the edge. Her toes curled, and her walls clamped down on your cock as she came. She turned her head and begged you for a kiss. You gave her one; she weakly met your tongue, allowing you to take over completely. Chaeyoung’s body shakes in your arms as she cums. You continue pounding her cunt, not caring about overstimulating her. Chaeyoung’s moans only got louder as she screamed from the pleasure. You were getting close to cumming. “I’m going to cum inside, Chaeyoung. I’ll make you mine.” 

“I’m yours!” Chaeyoung cried as she came again. You move closer to the wall, pressing Chaeyoung against it as you continue to thrust. Knowing you were at your wit's end, you slammed your cock into her womb and shot your load inside. “So warm,” Chaeyoung moaned weakly as your cum filled her cunt.  Chaeyoung looked down at her belly, where she felt warmest, and pressed on it. When a little bit of cum leaked out, she pressed on it again. You carry Chaeyoung onto the couch, crashing down on it as you rest. Chaeyoung’s sweaty body lays against yours, your cock still inside her. 

“You took the pill, right?” Chaeyoung gives you a nod. “Good, then I can keep pumping you full of cum, right?” Chaeyoung uses her strength to stand up, cum running down her thighs. She falls to her knees after turning around. She reaches for your cum-covered cock, her small hands wrapping around your shaft. She strokes your cock slowly before pressing her lips to the tip.

 She kisses your cock, praising it, whispering, “You’re all I want. All I need. My body is made to take this cock.” She says all that as she kisses and licks up your cum. It was almost like she was hypnotized. 

“You like my cock that much, huh?” Chaeyoung rubs her cheek against your cock and nods. She gives you her usual cute smile. “Let’s rest before we continue. We have a lot more toys to use.

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #twice smut #chaeyoung smut

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You wriggle helplessly as the man straddles you. You kick your feet into the carpeted floor and grunt into his palm. He’s strong and heavy but you can’t give up. And if you can’t win, you won’t make this easy.

He plants his hand between your shoulders, pinning your chest as he leans his weight on you. He grunts as you shift under him, pushing your knees into the ground as you try to bounce him off. You only manage to awkwardly press your ass into his crotch.

“Hey, stay fucking still,” he squeezes your jaw, glove still flush to your mouth, “and shut the fuck up.” You open and close your teeth, trying to find a catch. He snarls and squeezes you between his legs, “are you trying to bite me again? What the fuck?”

“She’s fucking feral,” the driver tosses over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” the man on you barks back, readjusting to one knee as he brings his other over your back, replacing his hand with his leg.

He fumbles around as you try to see anything in the dim of the van’s compartment. His hand slips as his other comes around, a piece of rough fabric rubbing on your cheek. He pokes it into your mouth with two fingers and you nearly gag on the dry wool.

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “balls, she’s hard to put down.”

“Wasn’t my first choice, trust me.”

“Who let that jackass have final say?” The man over you grumbles.

He drags you with him and reaches above you. You see the edge of the roll of tape as he keeps you trapped under his knee. He swiftly sticks the tape over your mouth so you can’t spit out your gag. Next he grabs your wrists and pulls his knee away.

You tug on your arms, resisting as you keep up your fruitless flailing. No, no, no. You’re not going to just roll over and give in. Get off!

He forces your arms together, winding the end of the tape around your wrists, again and again, until they’re bound taut behind you. He’s panting almost as hard as you are as he plants his feet, standing half bent over you beneath the low ceiling of the fan.

“Damn, well, I didn’t expect her to be so fucking stubborn,” he snickers.

You flip over and shoot your foot up, straight into his crotch. He chokes on his laughter and drops the tape. He cradles between his legs and falls to his knees. He croaks as he catches himself on one hand.

“Goddamn it, you bitch, I was half-cocked,” he contracts as if he’s about to vomit.

You puff through your nose and bend your legs, curling back on your shoulders and using your weight to throw yourself forward. You roll onto your feet, the momentum lifting your ass up but not getting you all the way up. You try again and get one foot and one knee under you.

“What the fuck’s going on back there?” The driver asks as the van rocks with your movement.

“Nothing,” the other man groans and sits up, “nothing at fucking all.”

He swipes his leg across yours and has you slamming back to the floor, this time landing on your shoulder. You grunt and twitch at the jarring pain on your joint. He grabs your arm and hauls you closer. You’re both breathless as he retrieves the tape and fights to bring your ankles together.

He secures your ankles and lets you go. You lean on your hands and watch him as he sits back and swipes his hair away from his forehead. In the small cloud of light from the front of the vane, you see the angle of his jaw and the shaved side of his head.

“God,” he puts his hand over his pants, “I feel that in my throat.” He shakes his head, “don’t worry, pussy cat, you will too. I’m gonna be so fucking deep–”

“Ugh, dude,” the driver mutters.

“Don’t be a fucking prude,” the man stretches his leg out and nudges you with the toe of his boot, “we all know what the hell this is.”

You close your eyes, holding back the hot glaze of tears. You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves as they cluster in your chest. A million questions race through your mind but you can’t bring yourself to even imagine the answers.

🎀

The van idles in one spot. You temper your breaths as you listen. The driver gets out as the man in the back with you picks his nails with a knife. He started brandishing a while back. Does he really think you aren’t already scared out of your mind?

There’s some sort of grinding nose and footsteps in the gravel coming back to the van. You move, trying to see the front as the driver gets back in, slamming the door and jolting the entire vehicle. The other man pokes you with his toe, his way of warning you.

“Fucking gate,” the driver mutters as he shifts back into gear and leans on the gas.

You garble around the fabric in your mouth, not making much noise as you wiggle and turn to look at the other man. He yawns and examines the long blade, only a shadow as the darkness invades the van. There’s not much light around to colour the world.

“Almost there, pussy cat,” the man teases, "Merry fucking Christmas… well, I think we still got a few hours before the clock tolls.”

You let your head loll. He’s so annoying. Maybe it’s just the situation or that he’s obviously a very bad person, but he irks you so much. Years of working with the general public and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this much detest for one person. Usually you could just shrug it off and go onto the next. Right now, you’re quite literally trapped.

The van follows what feels to be a curving road, bumpy as it jostles you against the rough carpet. Your adrenaline ebbs and flows as your eyes flutter one moment only to flick open wide the next. The tire treads mulch the snow, slowing, and stops again. It’s almost pitch black as the van shuts off.

The man in the back stands, you feel it in how the axle bounces. He comes close, boots edging along your side as you sense him close. The door slides open behind him and lets in the moonlight. He bends and grabs your feet, turning your body and dragging you towards the door.

You kick but can’t free yourself from his grasp. He shoves your legs down harshly and pulls you up by the front of your coat. In a second, he has you slung over his shoulder as he turns to the other man.

“Where is he?” The man holding you asks as you squirm. He has his arm hooked around you as his other hand comes up to pinch you, “pussy cat, you don’t start wagging that ass unless you want me to punish it.”

You still, stunned by the suggestion. He’s so gross. You whimper as his shoulder presses uncomfortably into your stomach.

“He’ll be here soon. We should get her inside.”

“We should throw her in the snow and see how long she lasts,” the man sneers, “she’s not as nice as he said.”

“We can deal with that,” the other assures.

A flashlight clicks on. You can’t see anything past the man’s jacket. You bounce on his shoulder as he carries you across the uneven ground. He trails the second man as you hear several electronic beeps and the whir of gears. 

A door opens on cold hinges. You’re taken through a doorway as the night air follows you inside. The flashlight’s glare flicks around, illuminating the edges of your vision but offering little more. You hear a click and an overhead light suddenly casts brightly all around you. Still, you can’t see around the man who has you in his grasp.

“Put her in the room,” the other man orders.

“I got it. Don’t act like you’re the boss.”

“Take your own advice. My fucking house.”

“Yeah, and I got the van. Oh, I also came up with the plan, so I’ll say we’re even.”

“You talk a lot.”

The man holding you scoffs, “rich, coming from you.”

“Just like everything else about me. Go on. We gotta wait for him. Figure this shit out.”

“I got it figured out. Strip her down and show her what’s what.”

“We agreed to wait,” the other man insists.

“Oh, so he’s in charge?”

“No, you know he isn’t. I just think… what he said made sense. Go fucking put her in the room so we can talk real shit. I can’t focus with her ass in my face.”

“Tell me about it,” the man slaps your ass and kneads, “it’s like two inches from my mouth–”

You writhe and let out a hollow whine through your nose. He chuckles and falls into step. You lift your head up stiffly as he passes the other man and you meet his eye. You’re not sure if you know him but your gaze falls to the autumnal hued scarf around his neck. You know that scarf.

It can’t be. First Alan and now this guy. This is a conspiracy. It has to be.

You watch the floor change from slated hardwood to patterned carpet and again to dark teak. Down a hall and into another room. Only the light from outside limns your vision as you’re flung from over the man’s shoulder onto an unseen bed. You gasp at the soft mattress, expecting much worse.

“Pussy cat, you stop your hissing and pissing,” he warns as he backs up to the doorway, the light giving a better look at his features, “I’m gonna get to you. Count on it.”

You groan at how the tap chafes your wrists and the smell of the adhesive below your nose. You blink and focus on the man’s silhouette. You think you know him too but you’re not sure. That tuft of hair on his lip seems familiar. Before you can find the memory, his image is blocked out by the door and you’re plunged into sheer darkness.

This can’t be happening. You can’t be here. You have to get home. Who’s going to feed Ernie?

🎀

Your eyes slowly adjust to the dark but you can’t see much. There is not hint of a window to let in any light or even a slat to leak in under the door. More eerie than the deep blackness is the dearth of sound. You can only hear your own breath and the soft squeaks that slip out at your most fraught.

The walls block out anything beyond. That alone is oppressive. If you weren’t tied up, if you weren’t gagged, could anyone even hear your screams?

You wiggle, roll and writhing across the breadth of the mattress. You reach the edge and rock yourself until you can sit up. You inch over the side of the bed until your feet meet the floor. You lean your weight on them and brace yourself.

You’re already out of breath with the effort. You stand, swaying as you struggle to balance on your bound feet. Your knees buckle as you lean this away and that until you can straighten yourself. You hop forward, once, twice, and again. You turn yourself towards where the door shut.

You stagger as you land a bit too hard and you twist, hitting your shoulder on the wall. You huff and puff as the tap grows slick around your lips, the cloth make you gaggle. You sidle, arm again the wall and the handle hits just above your wrist. The metal leaves a thrumming pang in your flesh.

You pivot and lean your back on the door frame, grasp the handle between your hands, sweaty palms struggling to get a grip. You turn this way and that, each time meeting resistance. You squeeze tight and sake yourself and the handle as a croak escape your nose. You didn’t expect it to open but it’s still a defeat.

You slide down to your ass, bending your knees before you as your hands rest behind you on the floor. You hang your head and measure your breaths. You’re not just scared for you, you think of your poor puppy waiting for you. Of you never going home to Ernie. That sparks the fuse to full panic.

You ball your hands to fist and slide down onto your arm. You wriggle down to your back, lifting your legs to the door, setting your boots on it. You pull back and kick, the bang jarring you. You do it again. Harder. You won’t stop. They can’t just leave you here. They can’t ignore you.

A thump comes from the other side. A warning. You kick back, even louder. No response.

You’re exhausted, but you keep going. You kick until your damp with sweat and your legs ache. You bring your feet down over over and until you can’t any more. Then you lay in the blind silence, a sob trapped behind the gag.

Ernie…

You’re almost delirious. Disbelief, fatigue, adrenaline, you’re not sure which. There’s a beeping and a metallic grind. The door shifts, hitting your bent legs as it tries to open. A grunt comes from the other side as the push until you’re forced a few inches up. A light radiates over your suddenly.

You stare up at the white glass shade on the ceiling. The door shoves you further and further. A figure enters and looks down at you. A heavy sigh that tickles your brain. You know it. You look up at that man, Alan or Anthony, as he shuts the door.

He bends to pick you up. He takes you to the bed and puts you on your side. You let him. You can’t do anything else. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks you over. He sits cautiously on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry, honey, I hope they didn’t hurt you,” he caresses your cheek and you wince, “I told them to be nice. Wish I could’ve come with you but… I had to sort some things out.”

You bat your lashes, eyes widening. He cooes as pets your hair. “It’s okay, don’t be scared.”

His fingertips brush along the edge of the tape and he slowly peels it away. You groan as he tugs at the corner of the cloth and frees it from your mouth. You cough, your throat raw and dry.

“I can untie you but you have to promise to be good. You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”

You close your eyes and nod. He crumple the tape and you hear him place it down. You suck in a deep lungful of air and let out a scream, “HELP!!!!!!!!”

“Hey,” he hisses and quickly smothers your mouth with his large hand, “honey, don’t do that.” He squeezes until you’re quiet, until your jaw aches, “no one can hear you.” He leans over you as your eyes flick open and meet his, “not even the others. Right outside that door and they can’t hear you.”

You search his face. Stern and somber. He looks honest but you would’ve said the same back at the store when he lied to your face. You nod and go limp. Despite his deceit, you believe that.

He reluctantly drags his hand away, “I want to untie you, okay? I don’t want you to be stuck like this all night but if you’re bad, the others… they won’t let me.”

You don’t say anything. You stare past him, to the crux of wall and ceiling. You don’t care about the others or about this man. You only care about one thing.

“I know you’re confused and probably angry. This isn’t a bad thing, okay? We’re not doing this to hurt you, honey,” he rubs your shoulder, “we want to help you. To give you everything you want. Do you really want to spend Christmas alone?”

You rasp as you breath deeply. You wet the roof of your mouth with your tongue then your lips. You keep your eyes averted as you muster your voice.

“You’re married,” you accuse, "you have a family."

He clicks his tongue, “and? You have no one.”

That stings. A deep cut you feel deep in your gut. Your eyes meet his sharply and you pull your shoulder away from his hand. You push your chin out defiantly as a heat rises behind your eyes. You might be alone but it doesn’t mean you’re unhappy. Still, the way he said it…

“That’s not true, I have someone.”

“Honey, don’t lie. I know you don’t. I know you live on Fort Street in that square yellow building. Apartment 325. Just you. It’s a bachelor at the corner–”

“Stop, stop,” you beg him. “How do you know that?”

“Does it matter how?” He says lowly, “Honey, i’ve been nice, haven’t I? If you’re nice, I’ll stay that way and I’ll make sure the others don’t hurt you.”

You crinkle your nose and give a fearsome snarl you know must look ridiculous. You don’t care about these men or what they want. You don’t even care about yourself. 

“I do have someone,” you insist, “Ernie.”

“Ernie?” He echoes.

“My puppy,” you hiss, “and I’m not going to be nice–” You grit the last word through clenched teeth, “unless you take me to him right now.”

“The dog?” He wonders.

“He needs to be fed and walked. I’m his mama and I need to see him,” you demand, your emotion finally bubbling up to the surface, “and until you take me home, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” You dig your nails into your palms and let out a shrill shriek. The blood curdling type you hear in horror movies.

The man covers his ears and stands. You do it again as you bounce on the bed. You must look crazy but you don’t care. Maybe if you’re crazy enough, they’ll let you go. You suck in a third breath and scream even louder.

He grimace but doesn’t stop you. He backs up and stomps to the door. You keep going until it locks behind him.

They think you’re weak because you’re alone. You’ve worked retail, you can handle a couple of psychos.

#andy barber #lloyd hansen #ransom drysdale #dark andy barber #dark lloyd hansen #dark ransom drysdale #dark!andy barber #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!ransom drysdale #andy barber x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #knives out #the gray man #defending jacob #au #three for one #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #multicharacter #multifandom

[ftmkinki]

Update all text in red before posting

Edit: this isnt complete, pls feel free to ignore

I love the idea of buying a house thats SOOOOO cheap because of reports of "ghosts". And then, having very kinky experiences with them ;) so i wrote a story about it!

FTM!Reader x ghosts you/your they/them pronouns only

Cnc, free use, bondage, ghosts (obviously), tags updated as i write more

Nsft under the cut 💗💗

You scoff at the idea that such a good house was sold for a meager 20,000 because of stupid rumors. It was big, didnt need repairs, had a beautiful fenced in garden, was in the perfect location, good neighborhood, far enough away from neighbors that you can be loud without consequences but close enough to get to everything easily. You kept an eye out for what was really wrong all through the moving process, but nothing showed. It really was just horrible reputation that gave you your absolute dream home!

You had all your stuff moved from your previous apartment (and your parents/friends place because there was ZERO storage in your apartment) and after a long long day of setting up, your bedroom and living room were ready for you to spend your first night there!

That night you decide to really treat yourself. Destress in the best way a single person can in your opinion. You get dressed up in your sexiest lingerie top and pair it with a set of peek a boo panties and thigh highs with garters, a collar, and grab a pair of nipple clamps (with attaching chain) and a bullet vibe. After everything is on you in just the way you like and the vibe is securely affixed (but off) to your tdick with body safe tape you start to prepare for a proper welcome to your new house.

As soon as you bend over to peel back the blankets and get ready, you feel a spectral hand caress your ass. You shoot up, shocked and a little afraid. You see nothing behind you when you turn around though.... after a tense moment you decide it was the wind and the stress of moving that made you think that; and set about continuing the final setup of your destress night.

You're arranging pillows and setting the mood, when suddenly your bullet vibe turns on, causing you to moan loudly and bend over until your torso was resting on the bed. You feel a spectral hand trail appreciatively down your nack, fingers catching on the edges of your lingerie until the hand smooths slowly down your ass, ending the motion with a firm grab.

"I never thought this house would be bought with me still in it," a husky and excited voice said, "but if this is what i can look forward to at night, i dont think i really mind."

"Who are you!?! Wh-" abruptly your ring gag was roughly placed in your mouth. You could feel spectral hands forcing it in place as the excited voice said

"Shhhhh, you're just gonna be our warm fleshlight from now on thats it baby. You even did such a good job prepping yourself for us like a good slut. Now just let us take it from here"

You were still confused and a little scared, but they seemed to add to your arousal not detracting from it. You let out a whimper and begin looking for the other people in the "we" equasion. Nothing showed.

But right when you were going to make a confused noise you felt a spectral cock

#ghost kink #free use kink #free use slvt #free use cnc #bd/sm kink #nsft story

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

June part iii

But if you try sometime you’ll find

You get what you need

Leo turned his face up to the sun. It was quiet, save for the waves lapping at the boat’s edge and the rocks of his cove. And it was his cove. It had always been his cove, ever since he’d been allowed to take the boat out on his own. It was nearing evening but it was still warm and the sun still reached its soft fingers out across the water to touch his face.

All his thoughts were drowned out by the tree frogs, with their monotone song, and the wind in the trees. He looked at the fishing rods over the side. He’d caught nothing, but it was mostly a meditation anyway, or at least a form of one. Setting everything up, and then settling into the idea of a couple hours alone on the water. Cool, sweet iced tea and his Mama’s ham and mustard sandwiches.

He should go. It would be dark soon, and no one wanted to be near the rocks in the dark. He pulled everything inside the boat—rods, anchor. The motor hummed to life with ease, and he took his time, not ready to leave the dimming sun, or the way the wind rippled his t-shirt across his damp back.

When he turned towards the marina, all he could see were the bright crystals of the reflecting water. As he got closer though, squinting, he saw that there was someone standing at the end of their private dock. A silhouette of the sunset. Someone with a tilt to their head, a set to their shoulders, that Leo would know anywhere.

~

One Week Earlier

Remus went to his knees when Madison Square Garden erupted around him. He went to his knees when Leo fell, glove still outstretched but empty. He went to his knees when Logan’s puck found the back of Leo’s net.

Remus completely missed the Rangers’ celebration, pinning Logan up against the glass. The puck was swooped neatly off the ice, away from Leo, and handed to the Rangers’ equipment manager to be taped, labeled as a game seven game-winner, and readied for Logan to take home as a keepsake. Logan went off the ice. Thank God Logan went off. He had been for over two different shifts and he knew them. He knew them so well. Remus watched him put his head down against the boards when he made it back to the Rangers’ bench. His shoulders were rising and falling harshly. Luke thumped a hand on his back, eyes concerned behind his visor. Remus risked a glance at Leo and wished he hadn’t. His mask was down, his head was down.

This could be their nightmare.

Remus saw Sirius skate to the face-off circle. He registered James, right at Sirius’ side as usual but looking haunted. James looked up at the clock, which made Remus look up at the clock. Nothing but his blood rushed in his ears.

Nineteen seconds.

He tried to will the numbness out of his hands and feet. He drew a breath that felt sharp when the referee dropped the puck.

There was no scramble for it this time. Sirius swept it back to James, and James held it close. Remus felt himself call for it, tapping his blade on the ice. They didn’t have time to hesitate. James didn’t even look at him, drawing the Rangers’ defense away and over into his own lane before sending a clean, arrow-straight pass to Remus.

Remus caught it, and pushed hard. He didn’t think about anything but keeping the puck close and keeping his strides fast. His muscles burned, even inch of him held tight as Saint trained his body onto him, guessing what Remus might do next.

Six hundred options went through Remus’ head as the white ice blurred beneath him, and he went for, not his own favorite, but Sirius’. The shot that he’d adored as a PT. The one that made Sirius look like pure magic.

Remus let the puck drag, let his skate drag, slowing down the play and making Saint crouch. He knocked it to the other side of his blade, and lifted the puck as hard as he could.

Saint didn’t catch it. It rebounded against his blocker and Remus lunged forward—but Sirius was right there. He sent it hard, as hard as he could, right towards the empty sliver of space above Saint’s shoulder.

Remus was close enough to hear Saint’s shout. It sounded like outrage. His glove reached up, windmilling, and snatched the puck out of the air. He slammed it, captive, down on the ice, and the final horn went.

Remus fell to a knee. “No…”

He was close enough to hear Sirius’ shout, too, something past outrage, and watch as he slammed his stick low against the boards behind the Rangers’ net, snapping off the blade.

Game over.

Remus couldn’t hear the stadium for a long, long stretch of eerie quiet. He heard his own breathing. He heard his own, choked, desperate breathing.

Jules, he thought, and then it was all he could think. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Blue, red, and white gear fell around him as the Rangers threw their sticks and gloves in celebration. The roar filtered slowly back into Remus’ register, and then slammed into him like a wall of sound so hard that he had to close his eyes. The pummeling of hands on the glass sounded like thunder.

This was the hard part of perfection. So much of this year had been difficult. So much of it had been adjusting, then readjusting, climbing and struggling to get things right.

He’d started to believe he was owed this win. When had he started thinking like that?

Something tapped against his side and he looked up to find Pascal there. His face was stone, set and somber, and he jerked his chin towards something. Remus looked to see his teammates quickly filing into a line, waiting to shake hands with the still celebrating Rangers. A pile of blue on the ice, glimpses and flashes of laughter and grins and tears. He looked for Logan, but he couldn’t pick him out. Sirius was there, at the line’s front, waiting with his eyes averted from the celebrating New York.

Pascal helped Remus to his feet, said something that Remus couldn’t hear, and they skated towards the line together.

~

Logan’s hand found Sirius’ and about four different camera flashes went off at once.

“Sirius,” Logan said. “I…”

“I’m happy for you, Tremz,” Sirius said. He squeezed Logan’s hand then put his other one on Logan’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hard, quick hug. “Really.”

“Merci,” Logan said softly. “I’m sorry, you—look, you played so well. That shot—”

Sirius nodded and let go. Logan realized he didn’t want to hear it. “So did you.”

Remus was right behind him, pulling him into a shaky, one-armed hug.

“You deserve this,” Remus said. “Really, Tremz.”

“You’ll get one,” Logan said. And Remus looked away. Logan could hardly stand this. “I know you will.”

Remus smile was sad. “Yeah…Yeah.”

Logan wished he could spend ten minutes on each boy. Olli, Kris…

Kota held out his hand for Logan to shake. “Um. Good game.”

Logan hesitated for only a second before putting his hand into Kota’s. “You too…” He sighed. “Truce for the summer.”

Kota cracked a smile. “Yeah.”

Logan watched Kota pass by to shake Alex’s hand. Replacement. Logan didn’t think he’d ever look at Kota and not think of him that way. Even if they both ended up, somewhere down the line, on completely different teams with no Rangers or Lions even in the picture.

“What, no handshake for me?”

Logan looked back to see Pascal standing there. His helmet was off, brown and grey hair curling over his forehead. His smile was the realest one Logan had seen from the Lions.

“Dumo,” Logan said. It came out a little broken, and he more or less fell into his tight hug.

“I’m happy for you, mon fils. Don’t judge Leo on how he treats you just now,” Pascal said softly in his ear. “And don’t judge yourself.” He pulled back, hands on Logan’s shoulders. “D’accord?”

How? Logan wanted to ask. How how how?

Kuny stopped in front of him, jostling him with a hand on his head and a hard slap to his back. Logan wished he had something better to say. He wished he was better with words.

And there was Leo.

Hair darkened from sweat, cheeks red. He still had his glove tucked under his arm. Logan would relive that moment forever. Watching Leo fall to the ice, glove empty. Feeling himself shout in celebration, maybe out of muscle memory, only for what had just happened to crash into him nearly as hard as his teammates had. He’d been pushed away from Leo, from the blue paint. Like a photograph going out of focus, he had watched the blurred image of Leo pushing himself back up.

Logan came to a complete stop. He put a hand on Leo’s chest because he couldn’t help it. He touched the lion printed there. Even then, Leo didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Le,” Logan whispered. Leo put his hand over Logan’s, but that was about all. Leo’s hand was so slack, so cold, and his blue eyes flit once to meet Logan’s, but hardly for half a second. “Soleil…”

“Proud of you,” Leo said quietly. “I am, I…”

Logan opened his mouth to say something more, unsure what, but then Leo’s hand slipped out of his and he was left blinking hard and face-to-face with Thomas. That had happened too fast. Logan wanted to turn and grab Leo’s hand again, pull him into a hug.

But maybe Leo didn’t want that. Maybe, for the first time since they’d met, Leo didn’t want anything to do with him.

Thomas had seen, and pulled him into a short hug. “You’ll both be okay.” He pulled away and put a hand over Logan’s heart, tapping once. “Love you, man. It was a good series.”

“It was,” Logan said softly. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Thomas tapped his chest again, more firmly, like he was pressing something into Logan. “You’ll be okay.”

Champagne sprayed against his cheeks and got his hair sticky once they entered the locker room. The alcohol was sweet on his tongue, salty from his sweat. He smiled when he saw the cameras, it would look strange if he didn’t. He took a beer when it was offered to him.

It all happened to him, but he felt like he was hovering just outside of the room, looking through glass.

He found his stall and pulled his jersey over his head. He yanked off his pads and unstuck his undershirt, drenched in sweat, from his skin. God. He didn’t want beer or champagne. He wanted to go home. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head to keep his muscles warm.

Someone hugged him from behind. “Hey.”

Luke appeared, grinning. He jostled Logan by his shoulders. Luke’s hair was sticking up in different directions from his helmet and the champagne. His mouth looked, well, thoroughly kissed, and Logan glanced at Saint, who had a smirk on his face as he gave an interview for one TV network or another.

“Game winning goal, Tremz,” Luke said. “Means you get to pick where we celebrate first tonight. We got three days off, we’re going hard.”

Alex put an arm around Logan’s shoulders and Logan looked up at him. He hoped Alex, like Finn, could read his face without him having to say anything. Alex sent him a sympathetic smile and squeezed tighter.

“It is true,” Alex said. “You get to choose. You should choose. I know this is not how you pictured it, but you still deserve this.”

“We didn’t win yet,” Logan said. “You remember that, right?”

Luke sent him an unimpressed look. “When you pull through a seven game series, you get to have a couple drinks with your friends at a nice bar.”

Logan would have usually jumped at that chance to celebrate, at letting loose for a day or two before they were back and battling—well, whoever else was moving on. Everyone would be keeping an eye on the Lightning and Panthers game set for tomorrow. Logan wanted nothing more than to only be thinking about going to a rooftop bar and staying up until the sun rose.

But it wasn’t so simple. In his head, Leo was holding a champagne bottle to his lips and Finn was boxing him in against the rooftop wall with the rising sun against his face.

Home.He wanted to go home. Luke read it on him as easily as Alex had.

“I know,” Luke said then grabbed his shoulders again. “I know, but come on. You have to celebrate with us. I know you didn’t want to be, but you’re part of this team. I’m…” He paused, blinking. He briefly touched the cut and bruise from the high stick under his eye, and then his mouth. He glanced behind him at Saint, then back to Logan. “I’m fucking happy you’re here, Tremz.”

Logan smiled, but there were still Leo’s sad eyes pressing at him. At that moment, Percy jumped on Luke’s back, momentarily pulling him away into a mess of foaming beers and cameras.

Alex leaned in. They were alone, at least for the moment. “If we’re going to be…us. Who we are…” It didn’t take Logan any time at all to decipher who us was, and what they were together. “Then we can’t let it affect our play. And that’s what you showed them out there tonight. That we can love and play. And I’m grateful. Leo will be, too, after a little time.”

“Alex,” Logan began to say, but then Luke’s laugh filtered back in as he pushed Percy away towards where a camera was trying to interview him. He turned back to Logan.

“So?” Luke asked. “Where to?”

Finn and Leo would no doubt tell him he should go, but all he wanted to hold Leo until he could erase the crestfallen look from his face.

“Please,” Luke said more gently. “I know this is…I know you’re probably feeling a lot of different things right now but we’re your friends.” He glanced at Alex, who nodded. “Let us help. Just a little while. I want you there.”

“Me too, Tremble,” Alex said.

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Non. Mais—merde. Just…Okay.” Alex let out a whoop. “Let me find them first, let me just…” He looked towards the locker room door and accidentally made eye-contact with a few reporters who were looking at him hungrily.

Alex released him. “You have ten minutes before I’m pushing you into the shower so we can get this night going.”

“Alex,” Logan said. “The reporters by the door.”

Alex didn’t have to be told twice. He turned his hat backwards, raised his hands up and walked to the center of the room. “I have some super important things to say! Very important. Over here!”

Logan and Luke shared a look, laughing as the reporters were drawn like moths towards light.

“Um,” Alex began once the recorders and iPhones were inches from his mouth. “Okay, wait, let me think what they were…”

Luke gave him a little push. “Go.”

Logan tapped Luke’s cheek. “Looks like you already went.”

Luke’s next push was a shove.

The hallway was empty. Everyone was in the locker room for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way once the celebrations ended and the players had to be left alone to get dressed. Logan glanced behind him one more time as he made his way down the hallway, away from the doors. Maybe Finn would be with Leo—God knew the Lions wouldn’t want him in their locker room right now. But maybe if he waited outside, a little ways away, he’d be able to catch Finn’s mom, or Leo’s, and tell them that he just wanted to say…what did he want to say? Maybe he didn’t have to say anything, not if they didn’t want him to. Maybe they didn’t even want to see him, but he needed to see them. Just a glimpse. He turned the corner—he’d be out of sight of any reporters now. He looked behind him one more time, just in case, and when he looked forward again he stopped hard.

Finn was there, leaning against the wall, alone. He pushed himself upright when he saw Logan.

“Hi,” Finn said in a rush. “Hi. Hi, I—wasn’t sure if you’d be—Or, I also didn’t think any reporters should see me waiting right outside because, I don’t know, we’re rivals right now and all but that’s a stupid reason, so I…But I wanted to see you? I was going to call but maybe you didn’t have your—”

“Harzy,” Logan breathed. He closed the space between them in two strides, so relieved that it knocked the breath out of him, and reached up to hug him hard.

Finn had been expecting it, waiting for it, and clutched him back with one hand. Logan crushed them together, hands locked behind Finn’s neck. He remembered the sling.

“Oh—” But he couldn’t seem to let go. Finn. This was what he’d wanted. This was home.

“You’re not hurting me,” Finn’s voice had turned rough. He squeezed Logan tighter. “You’re not hurting me, it’s okay.”

Logan just shook his head. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay.

Finn pressed his face into Logan’s neck, letting out a slow breath. “Just wanted to see you off the ice. It’s so different out there. You’re still wearing blue, though.”

“You love all those books where the enemies become lovers.” Logan’s voice was muffled by Finn’s shoulder.

Finn laughed softly. “I love that you know that.” He passed a hand through Logan’s damp hair. “You were never my enemy, though.”

“I was tonight.”

“No. You were an opponent tonight. That’s different.”

“Are you okay?” Logan pulled back to see his eyes. “Your head?”

“I feel okay,” Finn said, but he looked tired and strained. Logan put one of his cold hands to Finn’s forehead. It made Finn close his eyes briefly in relief. “Don’t worry about me.”

Logan had plenty to worry about. He saw Leo’s face again, eyes down, shying away from the cameras. “Is he okay?”

Finn just stroked careful fingers over a fresh bruise on Logan’s cheek.

“Does he still want—like, to see me?”

“God, Lo, of course he does. It’s not your fault.”

Yes it is. Yes, it is.

“I’m gonna take him home,” Finn said.

Logan’s heart jolted. “Home?”

“To your place, I mean.”

“Oh.” God, he’d thought Finn meant Gryffindor. He thought he would have to go to sleep alone tonight thinking about Leo. “Oh. Good.”

Finn smiled a little. “Home’s wherever we three are together.”

“I thought you meant you were leaving.”

“Not a chance.”

“You have your key?”

Finn nodded. He looked so tired. It was going to break Logan’s heart. “Yeah, we got it. Go celebrate, okay? Really, I’m not kidding. Have fun. It’s okay. It is. I love you so much, we both do, go celebrate and have fun. I want you to.”

Logan touched his face, the scruff there, the beginning of a try for a long play-off run—one that should have been longer than this. He leaned up and kissed the coarse stubble on his jaw, then then corner of his mouth, and then Finn turned into his kiss with a hand on his lower back.

“I love you,” Logan said.

Finn took his hand and kissed his knuckles, the fresh cuts from fighting Kota. “See you at home. Okay? Doesn’t matter how late it is, wake me up.”

“Tell Leo I love him.” Logan kissed him quick again, then tried to leave but had to kiss him once more before finally turning back the way he’d come.

~

Remus could tell that his mom had given Julian a bit of a lecture before he entered the locker room. Maybe on not seeming too disappointed when he saw Remus. But Remus, after he’d bent down, could feel it in the tight grip of Julian’s hug.

“Sorry, Jules,” Remus said into his shoulder. He looked down at the 6 on Julian’s jersey. “I…I wish I could have done it for you.”

Julian just held him tighter, and when he didn’t reply Remus realized he was crying.

“Oh,” Remus said, a little surprised. He rubbed Julian’s back gently. “Oh, Jules…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m—didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, this sucks, I know.”

Julian pulled back and Remus was relieved to see that the tears were soft, not truly upset. More overwhelmed. Still, the catches in his voice took Remus right back to Julian crawling into his bed. To a baby Julian. His baby, that’s how he felt sometimes. He reached up to wipe a thumb across Julian’s cheek and laughed when Julian swatted half-heartedly at his hand.

“I just really wanted it for you.” Julian huffed. “Like—I really want everything for you.”

Remus looked away briefly, at his parents, standing just behind them. Hope put her hand against her chest. Julian’s words made them smile at each other, despite it all.

“That means the most,” Remus said around a thick throat. “That means…the means more than anything else, thanks, bud.”

Julian fiddled with one of the straps of Remus’ shoulder pads. “At least we’ll get to hang out more now.”

“I mean, it’s not like you need to help me get married or anything.”

Julian laughed a little. “Oh jeez. I forgot.” He looked over to Sirius. “That was a really good almost goal, Sirius.”

Sirius’ smile didn’t come as easily as Remus’ but it was there. For Julian, it was real. “Thanks, Jules.”

“I wanted this for you, too,” Julian said.

“Ditto.”

They looked up to see Regulus there, in Sirius’ jersey still. His hair was buzzed short—Remus had been surprised when he’d first seen it, but it suited him. It made his jaw sharper, his grey eyes vivid under thick brows.

“Some luck charm you are,” Sirius said half-heartedly, but he rose from his stall.

Remus watched the two of them hug, watched the way Regulus, maybe without completely realizing it, tucked his chin into Sirius’ shoulder in just the same way Julian had.

“Bien?” Regulus asked softly.

“Non,” Remus heard Sirius say. “Mais ouais.”

No but yes. That sounded about right to Remus’ ears.

“Hi,” Remus sighed with a smile, pushing himself up to greet his parents.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Hope pulled him into a tight hug, and Remus felt his dad’s hand on the back of his head. “You were incredible, you know that.”

“Thanks,” Remus said hoarsely. He let himself lean a little harder into his mom’s arms.

It was a blur after that, mostly. Getting dressed. Getting back to their hotel. Saying goodnight and his mom promising to take them out to a late, late breakfast—even though Remus knew both Sirius and himself most likely weren’t going to be able to sleep that much. He was exhausted but adrenaline coursed through his veins, hot and alive.

In the room’s kitchenette, Remus listened to his family’s final footsteps out the door as he flicked the burner on for tea. He turned back to the glossy hotel kitchen island to find both Black brothers sitting there, looking at him.

Regulus cracked a small smile. “Just making sure neither one of you is going to go break into MSG and skate back the game or something crazy like that.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius said in French.

“Hey.” Remus took down two mugs. “Point taken.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows at the mugs. “Two? Is that you telling me to fuck off?”

“Yeah,” Remus said with a smile.

Regulus looked at his brother. “Re said it nicer.”

Sirius, who was slumped with his cheek in his palm, merely shrugged. Regulus’ smile faded as he looked at his brother. Sirius looked tired. Like he had been lifting something heavy and didn’t know how to hold himself without its weight.

Then, to Remus’ slight surprised, Regulus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and pressed his forehead against Sirius’ temple.

“D’accord,” Regulus said softly. “Je t’aime.”

And then he was gone, the hotel door closing with Sirius left blinking after him.

Remus watched him go, too, feeling warmer than before.

“Sweet,” Remus said softly, and Sirius just looked down at his hands, rubbing over his dry knuckles.

When the water heated, Remus poured the tea—chamomile—and settled on the stool that Regulus had occupied. Sirius looked down at the mugs, then at Remus.

“I know, I know,” Remus sighed. “I don’t think it will actually make us sleep, but we can pretend.”

Sirius didn’t reply. He pressed his hands around the warm mug, staring down into the steam rising from the cup. Remus let him be quiet. He let them sit. They would talk when they both felt like they could.

“Re,” Sirius said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Une promenade? Avec moi.” Sirius asked.

“A walk?” Remus asked.

Sirius hummed his affirmative into a kiss to Remus’ temple. Remus closed his eyes when Sirius inhaled, breathing him in. 

What else was there for Remus to do but nod?

~

Leo and Finn moved quietly around Logan’s apartment. Leo sat down on the couch, but didn’t know what to do once he got there. He watched Finn take off his sling—he’d taken to doing that recently. Finn went to the refrigerator and returned with two glasses of water, plus a bottle of gatorade for Leo.

“Comfy?” he asked, which was Finn’s way of asking if he wanted to put sweatpants on. When they had first started living together, it had also been Finn’s way of asking if Leo would rather stay in than go out. Comfy? he’d ask, and they would go and change—sweatshirt and sweatpants—and return to the living room together, smiling and each with their own book in hand.

How did I get so lucky? Leo would think, and then, a second later, How am I supposed to survive loving you?

Now, Leo accepted the gatorade and downed half the bottle in one go.

They walked into Logan’s closet, which had morphed into their shared closet lately. Leo thought of their rooms back in Gryffindor. When was the last time Leo had walked into his own, old, abandoned room? He couldn’t remember. He preferred Finn’s. Finn’s was his.

Leo pulled his suit jacket and pants off, pulled sweatpants on. He was starting on the first button of his shirt when Finn put a hand out.

Leo looked at those soft brown eyes. Finn was his.

“Thanks,” Leo said. His voice sounded odd, like he hadn’t spoken in ages. It wasn’t true. He’d been forced through interviews. God, he never wanted to see those recordings. He never wanted to see what his face had looked like, answering any of those questions. What happened? What’s next? And it was Tremblay who—

“T-shirt or?”

“Yeah,” Leo said, and let Finn push his shirt from his shoulders. Finn turned to their suitcases, messy on the floor, and reached for one of his own t-shirts. Harvard Men’s Ice Hockey it said. Soft and worn and faded gray and red. Leo’s favorite. Leo wanted to comment on the way Finn reached up to slip it over his head—it probably hurt his healing shoulder—but Finn didn’t flinch. He just kissed Leo’s cheek, let his mouth linger there for a moment, and then turned back to the suitcases.

Leo stood there, hands twisted into the t-shirt’s hem. Finn straightened back up, holding a shirt for himself. Some pressure cracked in Leo’s chest. It felt like tears, but they didn’t come.

“I’m gonna go home with my parents,” he said into the small space.

Finn froze. The muscles in his bare back tensed, the t-shirt he was holding bunching in his grip.

“For—” Leo’s voice broke. “For a little bit.”

Slowly, Finn turned around and Leo had to look away. He reached for socks, head down.

“It’s just been—like, a lot of things have been happening. I’m just—I’m gonna go home for a bit.”

“Le,” Finn breathed.

Leo closed his eyes and flipped the top of his suitcase closed. “I’m—I’m sorry? I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was doing when he turned out of the closet, leaving Finn there. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He sat back down on the couch, heart pounding. Finn didn’t follow him out right away. Maybe he was trying to give Leo a second. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he was upset. He’d lost too, tonight. Leo almost had to remind himself since Finn hadn’t been on the ice. But all of Finn’s season was just as over as his own.

He wondered where Logan was right now. A cool, summer-night roof top? A sticky-tabled bar? Someone’s apartment? Someone’s house just outside of the city?

He felt the couch dip beside him, caught Finn’s soft red hair out of the corner of his eye.

“Le?” Finn’s voice was so gentle that Leo had to look at him.

He had his glasses on now, but he took them off as he sat down and put them on the coffee table. Leo stared at them. He loved the way they looked, waiting for Finn to pick them back up again.

“Don’t be sorry,” Finn whispered. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Leo kept his eyes on the glasses. “I…Yeah. I know.”

More silence. Finn reached out and rubbed a gentle thumb over Leo’s knee.

“I know that Lo’s sort of spoken for,” Finn began. "For who knows how long, but—would you…would you want me to come—”

Leo shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not right now, but I love you.”

Finn sat up more and Leo watched his thumb on his knee. Bitten nails, sweet, brown-sugar freckles on the back of his hand. Leo never thought he was going to get to have him. It still hit him with a wave of happiness, even now.

The thumb paused. “You might find Lo in your suitcase anyway when you unzip it.”

“Play-offs.”

“I know.” Finn leaned forward and kissed his temple softly. Leo closed his eyes and a tear escaped without his permission. “I know, I was just joking.” A beat passed. The thumb, maybe the same one from his knee, passed over his cheek. “You might find me in your suitcase.”

“Finn.”

“Okay.” Finn kissed his temple again. “Okay…”

More silence. Leo didn’t know what to say when Finn was quiet.

“Well…Hey.” Finn paused. “Le, look at me.”

Leo did, and Finn’s eyes were all worried and calculating, trying to work out a way to make it better. Finn liked that, Leo had learned. He liked to snap his fingers and make it okay. It got hard for him when he couldn’t.

“Are you sure you…” Finn gave his head a small shake. “I just mean I’ll miss you. I thought…you know. We’d be cheering Logan on, of course, but even more we’d get to just hang out. We have so much time now.”

“Finn,” Leo said, pleading. “Don’t make me feel bad.”

“Oh, no, baby.” Finn sat forward more, palm warm on Leo’s thigh. “No, no, I just…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just meant I’ll miss you. I’m not trying to, like, corner you, I…”

Leo put his hand over Finn’s and Finn groaned and dropped his forehead against Leo’s shoulder for a moment before looking at him again. “If I can’t make you feel better, what am I good for?”

Leo shook his head. “This isn’t on you, sweetheart. This is just something I want right now. I need the heat. And the water. And the streets I used to walk. And my mama’s kitchen and boat rides and—”

“But I could be there if you need—”

“I need hockey to not be right in front of me for a second,” Leo said firmly. “And it kills me to say it, but Logan’s in the thick of it and you’ll be in the thick of it with him. And I’m not saying forever, just a week or so, I…” Leo closed his eyes briefly. He took Finn’s hands in his own. “Baby. You’re not listening. I love you, but you’re not listening to me.”

Finn looked like he was going to protest again, but he kept his mouth closed. He closed his eyes and gave a short nod.

Leo hated this. He hated that look on Finn’s face.

“No one knows what I need like you do,” Leo said. “No one knows what I love, no one listens to me like you. No one. But right now, I need something else, we… We lost Logan for a second there.”

Finn’s eyes darted away. He nodded.

“And then the person who hurt me most in this world showed back up in my life,” Leo continued. “Then I had to watch you lay unconscious on the ice because of him, because of me, and I had to sit there not knowing what to do while Logan seemed to know exactly what to do. I’ve never felt like I had to fight through your guys’ history before. The biggest mentor in my life retired, and the play-offs are finished and it was with me in goal.” Leo cupped Finn’s cheek, smoothing a thumb over his freckles. “And I love you both so much. But I need to be in the home that came before my home with you.”

Finn was nodding, and nodding, like he was trying to convince himself that he understood. That it was okay. He rubbed his palms over his face for a moment, and when he looked up again it had made his cheeks red.

“Just…don’t leave tonight,” Finn said. “Please?”

“Tonight?” Leo shook his head, brushing Finn’s hair back from his face. “Honey, I was never gonna leave tonight.”

“Oh. Oh, good, okay.”

Leo leaned forward and kissed Finn once, then twice. “Can I…” He pushed himself up to put a knee on the couch between Finn’s, and Finn opened his arms. “Your sling?”

“I’m allowed to be without it for a bit,” Finn said, and pulled Leo in. “I’d rather feel you.”

The entire world felt quiet and still like that. Finn’s fingertips running up and down Leo’s spine like soft drips of water. They had been laying there for maybe a half hour when, in the quietest voice, so soft, so god damn soft that Leo almost didn’t hear him, Finn said, “You’ll come back.”

Leo hesitated, trying to figure out if he’d heard right, then looked up at him. “What?”

Finn’s arms tightened around him, but he looked away towards Logan’s dark balcony. “No, nothing.”

Leo wasn’t convinced. Finn hadn’t said it as a question exactly, and most of Leo knew that Finn would never have to ask that, but the fact that it had slipped out…

Finn let out a breath through his nose. “No, I—I know you will. I just…I didn’t expect…I’m not making you feel bad, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I know this is—”

“Finn…” God, Leo thought. Oh, Finn. So much of Logan’s old torment was in those words and Leo, in all honestly, was glad they had finally been said. “Yes. Yes.” He turned in his arms to hold him properly, to look at him. He nodded, keeping those brown eyes on him. “Yes, I’m coming back.”

“I’m not telling you to stay,” Finn said quickly. “I just meant that I’ll miss you while you’re away doing what you need to do. And I want you to do what feels right. I just meant—fuck, I mean—I just mean that I want you to…know that I will miss you. It’s not that I don’t understand…Yeah. Yeah.”

“I’m coming back,” Leo repeated. “We’re both always going to come back to you.”

Finn’s slow nod didn’t disturb their quiet or their still. It was like it had molded around them, keeping them safe from that cold crush that had happened on the ice. Leo still felt it. The tingling awareness of a puck hitting the back of his net.

“You too,” Finn whispered. “Lo and I love you a lot, Le. Nothing would be the same without you.”

Leo closed his eyes, letting the warmth of that rush over him. He let it erase everything else, just for now.

Finn pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his neck.

“Finn,” Leo whispered. “Finn, I want…”

It was a question-not-question of his own, and it was all he needed to say before Finn was nodding again, hand against Leo’s cheek.

“Me too.”

They moved back into the yellow light dim of Logan’s bedroom, unable to part. Leo didn’t have it in him to protest the fact that Finn still wasn’t wearing his sling. He wanted so badly to have nothing but Finn’s skin against his. A weak protest made it out of his mouth in the form of Finn’s name, but it had sounded like nothing but a wish for him to come closer. Finn just hushed him, and wrapped him up close, and Leo could have cried. It had been so long since Finn could hold him this tight, and maybe it hurt but Leo made sure to find his good shoulder to let his head rest heavy on as Finn kissed his neck. Finn’s warm hands spanned up and down his back and he pressed a kiss to the dip of his spine.

They moved back into the yellow light of Logan’s bedroom, unable to part. Leo didn’t have it in him to protest the fact that Finn still wasn’t wearing his sling. He wanted so badly to have nothing but Finn’s skin against his. A weak protest made it out of his mouth in the form of Finn’s name, but it sounded like nothing but a wish for him to come closer. Finn just hushed him and wrapped him up close. Leo could have cried. It had been so long since Finn could hold him this tight. Maybe it hurt but Leo made sure to find his good shoulder to let his head rest heavy on as Finn kissed his neck and whispered soft words to him. Finn’s warm hands spanned up and down his back and he pressed a kiss to the dip of his spine.

It was Louisiana heat, Finn’s touch. Leo was burning from the inside out, centering at his hips and radiating outward like sun warming up a room. Leo’s mouth was open and panting, sweat sheening over his chest. Finn’s breath was shaky, and Leo could picture the way he tilted his head back. His hands took Leo’s hips, guiding, and Leo settled back on his knees more, his back snug against Finn’s chest so Finn could wrap his arms tightly around Leo’s waist and tuck his nose against Leo’s neck as they moved together. Leo reached back to fist Finn’s hair and turned his head. Finn didn’t hesitate in kissing him, sound and slow.

Leo let the weight, at least for now, slip away.

#vaincre lumosinlove #wolfstar #coops #hockey au #sweater weather lumosinlove #finnlo #sunfish #lelo #Alex o'hara #sirius black #remus lupin #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara

[morallyinept]

O' CHRISTMAS TREE - A Post Outbreak Joel Miller Christmas One Shot

Summary: Joel chops down a fir tree and brings it home for you as a surprise.

Pairing: Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Mature!GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.5k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's all fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Wanings/triggers - Mentions of a previous illness, and descriptions of a panic attack. Other than that, you're safe.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Just some Christmas fluff with Joel. Oh, how I love writing for him. 🥰

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

Joel steps out, pulling on thick, worn mittens over his hands. The suede has long since worn away down to a dulled shine, and the stitching frays in places.

The barren landscape stretches out before him; a pristine canvas of crisp white snow, interrupted only by the dark silhouettes of brackish trees in the distance.

The air is crisp and biting, with each breath forming a delicate mist that hangs in the stillness of the frozen air around his weathered face.

Picking up the axe, he throws the rope of the makeshift sled over his shoulder, and starts forward, ankle deep in the snow.

As he delves further towards the woodlands, the snow becomes deeper, up to his shins, as he trudges in some pockets where the ground slopes and dips, and the cold seeps through the layers he’s put on to stay warm.

Although he can’t feel his toes in his right foot, numbed out as the snow fills the hole in his boot that he’s taped over repeatedly. He makes a mental note to see if the commune can spare him a new pair when he visits next.

The snow, untouched and pure, sparkles under the soft bokeh of the winter sun, casting a mesmerising gleam of light across the expanse. Joel has to wince, the tears in his eyes from the biting cold misting and skewing his view.

Despite the sun, there is a gentle wind that bites through his bones. The trees, their branches heavy with snow, stand like sentinels; their skeletal forms adorned in nature's own powdery decoration.

The woods, not too far from the simple abode you both rusticate in, beckons with the promise of hidden treasures - a place where he hopes to find the perfect fir tree.

Each step requires continued effort, the snow reaching knee-height now in some places, but he presses on though the dull ache waking up in his lower back.

The quietude of the woods is broken only by the muffled crunch of his footsteps and the occasional creaking of snow-laden branches. It’s a world hushed by winter, as if nature itself is holding its breath in the awe of its own transformation.

And Joel can't help to be infected with a slight sense of it too.

He stills for a moment, listening out, relishing in a moment’s peace, for it’s rare for most of his life.

As he scours the woodlands for the perfect tree, the cold seems to intensify. The chill in the air bites at his exposed cheeks turning them pink like Braeburns, and he pulls his collar tighter, fumbling with it through the mittens.

Yet, the sight of the scraggly tree, standing resilient in the midst of the snow-covered landscape, fills him with a warmth that transcends the physical cold freezing his veins. It isn't the majestic evergreen he’d envisioned, but it has a certain charm.

He knows immediately you’d pick this one too. Slightly undergrown, on the slant and looking a little bit sorry for itself. You always had a soft spot for scragglers; he reasons it’s why you’ve put up with him for all this time.

Why you tolerate his grumpy moods and quiet brooding, even if he doesn’t mean to be. Scars run deep despite the thick, white skin pulled taught over the surface of them. You understand more about him in contemplative silence than Joel does himself sometimes.

Disappointment etches on his face, replacing the usually ingrained frown that resides there. The others are simply too large for him to even consider carrying. He curses himself inwardly for getting old.

A noise startles him from his reverie and he freezes. He drops the rope of the sled and reaches for his gun on his hip, listening out.

It’s been a long time since an infected has happened on you both here, nestled up in the Wyoming mountains. Secluded away in your own privacy, and safety, from the decaying world below you in the valleys and cities you've long since retreated from.

Retirement, you’d said to Joel with a wispy smile, as you’d both put the finishing touches to the long vacated cabin you'd claimed as your new home together.

A home, and that there in itself was something Joel still struggled to wrap his head around most days. How you could tolerate him loitering in your space constantly; how you wanted to share a space with him, as small and as simple as it was.

It was a fairly simple life, but you’d made it a home for the past nine months with your mutual talents at scavenging; planting your own vegetable garden and breeding some chickens; trading with Jackson when you needed to.

You had what you needed, and what you didn’t need, didn’t matter.

Joel listens out as the sound of silence is greeted back and he relaxes his grip on the gun nestled in his holster. He picks up the rope and carries on forward towards the tree, glancing around his surroundings with some alert still ingrained.

He dusts off the branches, clearing as much snow off the drooping ferns as he can before he raises the axe and chops at the trunk.

It warms him as he puffs; the ache in his back starts to burn as the tree topples forward and snaps.

With the tree lugged onto the sled - a task that takes him longer than he would like to admit - he turns to make the journey back; the snow seems to have deepened in his absence as he wades back through it.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretch across the undisturbed snow. A melee of his footprints, the only evidence of its ruin.

The quietude of the approaching winter evening is almost palpable, broken only by the sound of his laborious steps, tired and husked breaths from his lungs, and the occasional whisper of the wind through the frost-kissed branches.

He wishes you could see this right now, he knows you’d love it; a picturesque snow globe.

But you're not quite ready for that yet, not quite better.

It’s been a while, a testing few weeks as the hideous fever took you over and left you completely bedridden. He’d been concerned when your body birthed a rash and seemed like it was spreading too fast to contain.

He still feels the tiredness hanging around his eyes from sleepless nights rubbing your back as you vomited up everything that was in your body. As you cried through the pain, bones aching with the slightest movement. As he watched you slowly wasting away when you couldn’t eat, despite him gently coaxing you.

His flannel shirt that you favoured to sleep in, once fit snugly around the curves of your body as you rode him in the mornings, now hangs off your skeleton revealing a collarbone too prominent for his liking.

You seem to be over the worst of it, or at least he hopes so, but it’s left you incredibly weak. Reliant on him to provide and take care of you, despite him assuring you that he would anyway, but he knows you relish your streak of independence.

Anything more than pottering around the cabin still leaves you breathless and sleepy.

He had Tommy send a doctor; practically ran down the valley and dragged him up himself to give you medicine and the once over. He stifled Joel's fears about it being something malignant, something terminal, but he knows it’s left a fissure somewhere that hasn’t quite sealed up yet.

You’re both getting on in age, and now that the world has gone to shit, advanced medicine isn’t a luxury anymore. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to go there as misty thoughts of what ifs travel back in time from the future to haunt him.

The cold, though biting, is accompanied by a sense of some brief clarity. It’s a world in hibernation, patiently awaiting the rebirth that spring will bring with it.

He wheezes as he pulls the sled behind him, feeling heavier on the incline back towards the cabin. As he trudges back home, dragging the piss poor excuse for a tree behind him, he can't shake a tiny, blooming worry that it might not be enough.

The weight of your recent illness has hung heavy on his shoulders and he desperately wants to see you smile again, to hear you laugh instead of crying and retching, if but for his own selfish need.

It feels like this winter will never end and Joel is yearning for the sun once more.

Entering the small dwelling, a modest refuge from the harsh outside world that you've both made your own, Joel carefully sets up the tree in a corner.

Its scraggly branches seem to stretch towards the warmth of the fireplace he lights afterwards, tossing logs on there he’d chopped the day before, eager to fill the room in spreading the warmth and some holiday cheer.

Determined to make the best of it, he reaches into his bag, hidden for weeks out of your curious eyes, craftily stashed under the faded rug beneath some loose wooden slats in the floor.

He leaves the shotgun and the cartridges safe in there, thankful that they've not been needed in quite some time.

Opening the bag, it reveals a collection of old baubles mixed in sizes and style, and a foray of tinsels - precious survivors from a world that has faced a devastating end to some traditions. They're worn and weathered, each telling a story of resilience through the passage of time.

The dim light from the fireplace casts shadows upon his broad back, the sounds of the flames snapping are a gentle rhythm he loses himself to as he sorts the baubles on the table, discarding any that are broken and sharp.

He hears a creak and turns to see you making your way down the stairs slowly with your arms wrapped around yourself.

He immediately fetches the blanket from the sofa and wraps it around your hunched shoulders.

You smile softly at him as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Your lips are cold,” you say dreamily.

“S’cold out.” Joel confirms with a chapped smile. “Ya feelin’ alright, should ya be up?”

You nod timidly as you step down the last step. “Don’t fuss, I feel okay.”

He wraps an arm around you and guides you towards the sofa, but you stop when you notice the decorations sparkling on the table.

“What's this?” You query as you run a shaky finger over the coarse glitter on a large bauble.

Blushing, he turns you gently to face the tree in the corner, and you gasp.

“Thought we could decorate it together, if ya up to it?” He mumbles.

“Joel…” You sigh, warmly. "You did all this for me?" A fragile smile plays on your lips.

He nods, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "Wanted to bring a bit of Christmas, 'specially for ya, darlin’."

Tears well in your eyes as you approach the tree, fingering the tendrils of the ferns with a tenderness that speaks volumes to Joel as he observes you.

“A fledgling,” you praise with a croak.

In that moment, the imperfections of the scraggly tree and the worn decorations soon to be adorned on it are forgotten. What matters is the resilience of its growth, that no matter how small it is, it can still seed into something uniquely beautiful.

The harsh realities of your pasts fade away, if only for a moment. The wonky, if but humble, Christmas tree, stands as a symbol of both of your endurance, and Joel feels that same sentiment radiate off of you as he steps towards you, and holds out an ornament.

You look down at it in your hands; a pearlescent Santa with a faded red smile and the bobbling on his hat has long since been torn off, just a single tuft of dirty fluff lingers in it's place.

"It's perfect. More than perfect.” You say in awe. “I didn't think we could have something like this again."

“It’s nothin’, darlin’.”

A quiet moment passes as you stand together, taking in the sight of the tree that now holds a profound significance. You lean against him as he wraps the blanket further over your shoulders, a mixture of emotions playing on your face.

"No. It’s everything, Joel. You've turned something ordinary into something extraordinary," you say, your voice filling with gratitude. "You're so sneaky," you smile.

He kisses the top of your head, his own eyes moist. "I wanted to make it special for ya."

“You did. Thank you for this.” You beam up at him.

You lean forward and hang the little Santa ornament on the tree, adjusting it carefully, as he passes you another.

Your hands move with a gentle grace, each ornament finding its place on the tree like a puzzle piece completing a picture.

He watches as you caress and admire each decoration; the memories they hold unfolding in the quiet of your mind, their origin and magic.

The flickering firelight casts a warm glow on your face, illuminating the etched in lines of your worn expression for so long. He feels it warm him, your joy; the fire is secondary as he observes you with a new lightness to his aching, splintered body.

Joel marvels at your resilience, the way you move with purpose, despite the weariness that lingers in your bones still. The blanket swamps you and eventually you discard it, warming from the heat of the fire.

He folds it, keeping it close by in case you should need it.

As the last ornament finds its place, you step back, admiring your creation, a quiet acknowledgment of the beauty Joel has coaxed from the woods.

You feel him lead you backwards into the soft warmth of his lap as he settles on the patchwork sofa with you, and you nestle close inside his arms. You both spend time ruminating in the comfort of silence.

He gazes at you with a soft tenderness on his features reserved only for you that transcends verbal words. Your eyes, heavy with the weight of your lingering illness that is taking it's time to shift fully, flicker with the remnants of exhaustion.

He tightens his embrace, as if trying to shield you from the shadows that threaten to encroach on your haven of warmth as the wintry afternoon delves into an inky twilight.

“Sleep, if ya need to. M’right here.” He says, shuffling the blanket over your shoulders once more and you curl further into his chest. “I’ll make ya some soup in a bit.”

“Mm,” you nod gently against him, the sound of his steadying heartbeat in your ear sending you off slowly into a stunted sleep.

You glance at the tree as you close your eyes, vacant of lights due to no electricity, but it’s perfect as it is; glittering brightly nonetheless as the fire makes the tinsel twinkle.

As your body weighs against him as you drift off, the worry on his own face seems to momentarily lift, replaced by a sense of gratitude for the moments like this that you still have together.

He tries to disguise the tremble of his hands as he rubs gently up and down your back, remnants of his fear still taking their time to vacate his body.

He sits there, cradling you in his arms, watching the scraggly tree stand proud and buoyant, no longer a runt deprived of growth, over your shared, quiet sanctuary.

The worries of the outside world fade, and in that intimate cocoon, Joel finds some solace in the simplicity of being present with the person he loves most. The person who he'd go to the ends of the earth for.

He wrestles with the fear that lingers in the corners of his mind - the fear of losing you, and realises this back and forth with it is not appeasing any of the angst that festers under the skin in pustules.

He wills his mind to settle, to not keep steering through the choppy seas of scenarios that haven't birthed into any fruition. But it’s futile, Joel is a thinker. Sometimes an overthinker, much to his detriment.

And in these quiet spheres - where he has nothing else to calm those turbulent oceans - he drowns in them, wholly.

The fear of you dying was a spectre that loomed over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over every moment you’d shared. It was a fear that gripped his heart with a cold, merciless hand, whispering doubts and anxieties in the quiet recesses of his mind.

The mere thought of a future without you sends shivers down his spine; a visceral ache that seems to resonate in agony through every fibre of his being.

It wasn't just the fear of loneliness or the void your absence would leave, but the profound emptiness that would echo through the spaces you had once filled together. Imagining a world where your laughter no longer echoed in the room, where the soft cadence of your voice ceased to grace his ears, was a thought too painful to fully comprehend, and he can feel it constrict in his heart as it freezes the breath around his teeth.

The prospect of waking up to a reality without the warmth of your body pressed tight against his, is a dread that haunts his every waking moment, only made more prominently so since you'd gotten sick.

The fear manifests as a silent companion, an unspoken acknowledgment of the fragility of life pounding into his chest.

He raises a hand to it, letting you slip out of his grip for a moment as he wills himself to swim through it, wills himself to calm down. To breathe.

You stir gently against him, the loss of the warmth of his arm pulling you out perhaps, as you glance up at him with sleepy eyes. The pain in his eyes, the strain on his face, rouses you upright and clutching at him.

He can see your lips moving, but he can’t hear you through the white noise that thunders through his good ear. He knows you’ll be telling him to breathe, to focus on your voice and your touch, even if the other voices tell him to stop fighting, to just drown.

Your thumbs stoke across the side of his face, your eyes boring deeper into him to pull him out.

You reach in and you pull him out.

A choked gasp at the back of his throat lets you know you succeeded as he comes back to you, leaving the ice waters of his inward terror to solidly freeze over again.

The fear is always a haunting presence, but so, too, is the love that binds him to you.

“Joel, come back to me,” you coax softly as his hands find their way over yours and fingers interlock tightly.

He buries his head in your chest as you wrap around him; absorbing his warmth, feeling the sweat matting the greying curls on the back of his neck.

Breathing the faint spices of him in; the smell of homemade soap, chicken stew, polished leather. You kiss his crown and he kisses your neck, arms clamped firmly around your lower back.

He glances over your shoulder, not able to meet your eyes yet and you give him time to find his way back to them though the self-inflicted shame he feels the need to flagellate himself with anytime a panic grips him tight. Despite your reassurances that he shouldn’t.

So you hold him, sitting in his lap and pull the blanket around you both and rub his shoulders as his chin rests on yours.

He eyes the Christmas tree and remembers, remembers you decorating it as his eyes settle on the little Santa ornament as he squeezes you tight.

“Ya hungry, darlin’?” he asks a little while later, his teeth clashing together as his chin stays firmly put.

“Yeah,” you confirm, continuing stroking.

Continuing to soothe the broadness of him, the strength of him. He’s so strong for you, so domineering in his stacked presence but like this, he’s a tiny mouse in your hands, terrified that you could crush him if you squeeze too tightly.

A few minutes later and he’s up after cracking out his back, lighting the stove and pouring soup into a pan to heat. He’s slicing into a loaf of bread he’d baked earlier in the week and you watch him from the confines of the sofa, where he’s instructed you to stay when you offer help, watching him as he tends to you.

But you do squeeze him tightly, you always will. He's yours to hold and squeeze and grip tight as you hold each other up in this world.

And you know you’ll both do it until your last breath departs each of you.

Joel takes a moment, whilst the soup is cooking, to glance back at you and he sees you up on your feet fingering the tree, readjusting and tweaking, and he smiles gently.

You made it through; you're still here with him despite the nightmares and thoughts trying to cut into that blissful relief. And he allows himself to finally breathe that relief in.

You turn back and smile at him; a full joyous grin thrown at him that he’s missed seeing so much as of late. It sparkles at him, flashes brighter than the tree.

And that, right there, is the best Christmas gift that Joel Miller can ever wish for.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #christmas stories #jett's writing

[luveline]

steve harrington with a golden retriever girlfriend headcanons??

hellloooooo so. so i am not good at headcanons but i did write a little scenario because the idea is so cute love u <3 golden retriever gf x completely in love steve 0.8k

"Steve!" you exclaim, bursting into the shop with a huge smile on your face. 

You stride fast between shop patrons to where he's sorting through returned tapes. He stands up knowing what you're wanting and feels only mildly winded when you leap up into his arms, hands steadfast around his neck as he bends under your weight. 

He gives you a good squeeze, always happy to see you. 

"You're never gonna guess what I got," you say into his neck before pulling back and dropping onto your own two feet again. 

"What'd you get, doll?" 

You dig into your purse and pull out a box of Swedish fish, brandishing them like they're made from gold. "For you," you say, passing him the box offhandedly. You skirt around him to where Robin is sitting behind the counter on a stool. "And for you, my favourite Family Video employee."

You pass her a pack of twizzlers. She grins. "Thanks, Y/N." 

"You're welcome. You know, I saw, like, a huge ant hill outside, they were climbing up my socks by the time I remembered they could climb. And- Steve, what are you doing?" 

Steve rolls his eyes and guides you back, hands on your hips and lifting. You get the picture and kick off the ground, sitting on the counter with your legs swinging. 

He catches your foot in his hand and sure enough finds you've still got at least a hand's count of ants on your shoe and sock. He wrinkles his nose. "Baby." 

"I thought my socks were itchy." 

He starts pulling ants off of your sock, enamoured and exhausted with you. You quickly forget what he's doing, leaning backwards to talk to Robin with your head upside down. 

"How's it going?" 

"Slow day, slow Steve. Same as usual," she says. 

You lean a little too far and would've likely tipped off or almost when Steve grabs your thigh and holds you down. 

"Slow Steve," you giggle. 

He shakes an ant gently off of his hand and onto the floor. "Nice, babe." 

"Steve, don't, they're gonna get crushed," you say, having sat up to watch his process. 

"They're gonna bite you. Doesn't it freak you out, bugs all over you?" 

"Not really." 

Steve huffs. "Typical," he says under his breath, continuing to steal ants off of your sock. You get distracted by the radio, humming along and then quietly singing to the cheerful pop tune. 

Steve looks up at you from the ground, your carefree smile, so pretty and so charming, bubbly and beautiful. He gets distracted, watching as you karaoke the rest of the song like a lovesick fool.

When he looks down most of the ants, maybe five or six, have crawled into his arm hair. He shakes his arm hard and shivers as they fall away, jumping up onto his feet and brushing himself down, phantom ants crawling all over him. 

You beckon him forward worriedly. "You have one-" you gesture to his face. He rushes to push between your thighs, eyes closed and face inclined to yours. 

"Get it for me," he demands. 

Your hand cradles his face. You brush your thumb over his cheek. "Huh, must've been a trick of the light," you say after a moment. You squeeze his cheek. 

He opens his eyes to glare at you, finds it softening fast at your loving smile. "You're pretty," you say. 

He throws his head back, hand waving at you. "Get outta here, Y/N." 

You beam at him and jump off of the counter. Steve winces for your poor ankles though you don't flinch, straightening up your bright outfit with a flourish of the hands. 

"How do I look? Good enough to go play a game of Dig-Dug?" you ask. 

He's genuine when he says, "You look adorable." 

Robin groans and gags and Steve doesn't care, smirking to himself as he wraps his arms around you for a goodbye hug. Always strange to find himself missing your hugs so quickly. 

You rub the side of your head against his chest and he can't help the boyish rush of heat to his cheeks when you kiss his throat. 

"You smell so good. Like lavender. Are you wearing lavender? Did you switch colognes?" 

"I did," he says. "Obsession. You picked it, babe." 

"It's good." 

You sniff him loudly. He blushes worse, looking away from you for something to save his heart from giving out. He's punished by some higher power when he meets Robin's patronising gaze, though he knows she really likes you. It's his happiness she can't abhor. 

"Okay, bye Steve," you say succinctly, giving him one last squeeze and then making quick time out of the store, leaving behind only your smell and the lingering heat of your grip. 

Oh, and the Swedish fish. And a few ants. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2023

May 22nd Prompt: Hunger

Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve wakes up slowly, rolls over to look at his alarm clock, then bursts out of bed in a rush of limbs and sheets and curses.

3:42 blinks back at him. Sometime during the night the power had gone out, and Steve knows it is well past 9, when he was supposed to be opening at Family Video. He pulls on his jeans and a clean shirt, stuffs his feet in his shoes, runs a brush through his hair, and grabs his vest on his way out the door, sparing half a glance at his kitchen, but not having time to eat.

If it comes down to it, he thinks, there’s always the candy.

He gets to Family Video in record time, breathing out a sigh of relief when he yanks on the door to find it still locked. That means he’s the first one there. Keith might notice when he goes back through times this week to figure out pay, but Steve’s hopeful he’s gotten away with it this time.

He clocks in, computer reading 10:01 (an entire hour late, whoops), and takes a breath as he looks around the store. Robin’s scheduled to come in at three, meaning he has five hours alone.

No one comes in for the first hour. Steve finishes logging returns and winding back the tapes.

Halfway through the second hour, the bell above the door jingles, and Steve raises his voice from where he’s putting away tapes. “Welcome to Family Video!”

“Either you’re hiding or you’ve officially started haunting this place,” a voice calls back, and Steve laughs as he walks out of the aisle.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Hiya, Stevie.” He grins. “Tell me if this is too forward? But I noticed the power went out last night and figured if I know you as well as I do, you slept in and missed breakfast.” He hands Steve a brown paper bag, creased nicely at the top.

“Lifesaver,” Steve gasps, opening the bag. Three muffins. He sniffs them, then groans. “You’re perfect, holy shit, thank you.” Banana nut, his favorite. His heart skips an odd beat, then again when he realizes Eddie’s blushing, pulling a piece of hair across his face.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie says quietly, chuckling slightly. “I guess I was right?”

“Yeah, I woke up, like, half an hour after my shift had started, immediately panicked, and got here as fast as I could. I don’t need another write-up.”

Eddie nods, a smirk crawling onto his face. “How about waiving the fees for your favorite customer?”

Steve makes a show of looking around. “Dustin’s here?”

Eddie just laughs. “I can’t even be mad at that one.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, eyes wide, adorably serious. Steve tries to school his face accordingly, but he can’t really feel his face. “I’m hungry.”

Steve thinks about it. “I am too,” he decides, then thinks some more. “Is there pizza left over?”

Eddie shrugs, looks at the blunt in his hand, then shrugs again, taking another drag. “Chips?”

“I have chips,” Steve agrees, grabbing for the blunt. “C’mon, share.”

Eddie hands it over. “Steve,” he says again, “I’m a genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees.

“We should watch a movie.”

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes. “With snacks?”

“Yeah. Yeah, with snacks, c’mon, help me, help me!” He pulls Steve up, laughing when Steve does.

“Eddie,” Steve says. It’s his turn to be serious. “What if we call Argyle? And Jon?”

“And they can bring pizza,” Eddie breathes. “Stevie, I think you’re the genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees again. “I’ll call. You get snacks. And movie.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie laughs, resting his head against the wall. “There’s no way.”

“I swear! That’s exactly what she said! And then she tried to blame me, like it isn’t all automated.” Steve huffs a breath.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have way more patience than I do, man.”

“That’s not true. We have different types. I could never sit like you do, painting your figurines.”

Eddie snorts. “I zone out and wake up four hours later. I don’t think that counts as patience.” He sighs. “As fun as this has been, Steve, I’ve gotta go get ready for my shift. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. What time does your shift start?”

“Six.”

“That… Eds, that’s in twenty minutes.”

“No? I’m looking at a clock right here. It’s 4:40 right now. I’ve got an hour twenty.”

“Eds,” Steve says, sounding pained. “Daylight savings.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes. “Shit, shit, shit, you’re right, shit, fuck, okay, I’ve gotta go, love you, bye!”

He hangs up before Steve can say anything else, stuffing his feet in his shoes and grabbing his keys before racing out.

He’s halfway to work before he realizes he’s hungry. He lays his head on his steering wheel at a red light, breathes. “Just five hours,” he tells himself. “I can make it five hours.”

Half an hour in, he’s not so sure. His hands aren’t as steady as they should be, but he hides it from his coworkers, takes another few deep breaths, and tries to trick himself by drinking more water.

Ten minutes later, a familiar maroon Beemer pulls up. Eddie’s heart thuds in his chest as he goes out to meet Steve.

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve grins. “I think I got caught by all the lights possible.” He grabs something from the passenger seat. A brown paper bag.

“You didn’t,” Eddie breathes.

“I did,” Steve admits. “I hope turkey’s okay.”

“Turkey’s fantastic,” Eddie promises. “Freakin’ food for the gods, when I’m this hungry.” He opens the bag. A sandwich, a small bag of chips, an apple. He laughs. “Jesus wept, Steve, I brought you three little muffins!”

“Yeah, and I meant it when I called you a lifesaver.” He tilts his head. “I’m curious about something, though. If you meant it.”

Eddie pauses with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Meant what?”

“Gotta go, love you, bye.”

“Oh.” Nausea makes its presence known. He brings the sandwich down. “Steve, I-”

Steve’s fingers land on his forearm. “The truth, Eds. Please.” He’s whispering, eyes big and hopeful, and Eddie feels some of that same hope filling him.

“Yeah,” he whispers back.

Steve grins again, steps back. “I’m picking you up tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, watches as Steve drives away.

“Hi,” Eddie says breathlessly, opening the door before Steve could knock.

“Hi.” Steve chuckles. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

Eddie bites his lip, slides into the passenger seat. “Dinner? I’m starving.”

Steve grins at him as he puts the car in gear. “Me too.”

#steddieweek2023 #prompt: hunger #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #starambles

[astyrial]

little lamb spencer reid x fem!reader (angst) synopsis: you are kidnapped by an unsub word count: 1.5k warnings: blood, kidnapping, torture, hurt/comfort masterlist | requests are open

    a finger slowly and steadily hovers above your skin, running from your chin to your collarbone. your hair stands on edge as he looks down towards you. the man has a wicked smile on his face, his lips curl only a little as he sees the fear resting in your eyes. 

  "pretty little lamb, tricked so easily by a wolf in sheep's clothing. couldn't you, of all people, see that i very clearly brought you into my trap? shouldn't the fbi be the best of the best? and yet you follow like sheep," he brutally laughs, the thick mucus building up in his throat quickly regurgitating. 

  your eyes look up at the man, meeting his own. he has rich brown eyes, nearly black, as the light fades from them. "oh, but obviously i chose you for a reason, can't you see? i chose you because they'd do anything to keep you safe. that spencer kid, yeah, i'm sure he's loving this."

  spencer... your lip quivers a little as you attempt to hold back any tears. your mind begins to race as to what he had said about the unsub. that he thrives on fear, he enjoys someone who fears him. that the man also has to have a military background, probably a father figure who served. 

  "you're a sick bastard," your jaw tightens in his direction, your lips no longer moving, your eyes attempting to hide the very real fear hidden within. 

  he laughs, raising his hand up to his forehead, "isn't that just great, you're trying to act like you're not scared? have i not put on enough theatrics for you people? not enough risk?"

  just out of your line of sight, the man grabs something. it doesn't leave much room for imagination as it sticks into your upper arm, a knife. it's a few inches deep into the skin and yet he feels the need to push it in a little farther. like the man yearns for the feeling of ending someone's life, like he is draining their life force.

  despite the strong will inside, an exasperated cry for help reverberates deep from your lungs. a laugh rings through your head, a rich and annoying laugh that imbeds itself. he pulls the knife out and watches as the blood seeps down your blouse. "are you finally getting it? that you can't hide your fear as well as you think you can."

  "fuck off," you swallow whatever phlegm built up in your mouth, your eyes meeting his. 

  a little spit hits his cheek, his eyes wide in amusement. everything you do can't stop the vile things he is already planning out in his head. "really? stupid little lamb. none of your friends? coworkers? what do you consider them? because if it's anything closer than coworkers, i'm sure they'll be crying at your funeral."

  no amount of training can prepare you for the expression on his face. no amount of an agent shouting at you that this moment is the moment that matters. no amount of textbooks that spencer sends to your office can prepare you for the feeling of a knife running along your thigh. 

  "you know how this goes, you've seen the tapes. how about you look up and give your last words. and makes sure they're nice, your boyfriend will be watching," he smiles, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts a shoddy camera hooked up to a laptop. 

  of course you've thought of your last words, you're an fbi agent. you've been in comprising situations. however, you never thought it would realistically come. it never has and you thought retirement would've come quicker. "no," you shake your head, no long winded speech about justice, just no.

  "no? what do you mean no? you really have nothing to say to me? your friends? family? don't you wanna say anything?" he yells, the knife falling with his hand until it grazes your knee, taking a piece of skin with it. 

  you double over in the chair, your arms restricting you from moving forward much. your teeth clench hard against your lips and cause a little blood to fall. the unsub looks to you, his knife bloodied and dangerous. without much foresight, he hits the backend of it against your nose. 

  with the same hand, he uses his knuckle to hit your eye and eyebrow. the knife slicing your forehead as he does so. "you're all so stubborn. you know that?" the unsub breaths heavily, parts of his face twitching as he glared at you. "maybe this'll be the tape, i don't need you give some sob story."

  "yes you do," you cough up, ensuring that your word count stay small, "you need me to." 

  was goading the unsub your best choice? probably not. but from what you can remember is that this unsub is repetitive. he has traits similar to that of someone with obsessive compulsive disorder. he needs you to give a grand speech because that's what he's been taught. 

  "i do, little lamb? and how would you know, because some of your profiler friends know? they don't know me, but since you think they do, then tell me. how well do they know me?" he smiles, believing he had somehow tricked you into believing that this doesn't count.

  but every long winded speech counts. he just can't recognize it. "you're right, they don't know you," your eyebrows lower, your forehead creasing as you wait and watch as the unsub sighs. his thumb running along the edge of the knife's handle.

  he leans towards you, his eyes inches from yours, and truly it's the first time you've seen such lifeless eyes from a living person. the unsub takes the knife and plunges it into your stomach, your body lurching forwards at the impact. however, it doesn't do much but makes the wound feel even worse.

  the knife twists a little as he continues to stare right at your eyes, waiting for something. but the only thing the two of you can hear is a loud crashing noise. the man quickly pulls the knife out, causing blood to quickly pour from the spot. 

  "fbi! raise your hands mr. sanchez and drop the knife!" derek's voice coats your mind and released a wave of serotonin. suddenly adrenaline is not the only thing keeping you running. 

  "i'm in here!" you attempt to scream, however, it mainly comes out as a croak. your voice scratchy and losing most of its shape and tone. 

  the one and only person you wanted to see the most runs through the doorway. his fbi vest covers a sweater vest, his hands raised with a finger wrapped around the trigger of a gun. spencer.. your face instantly falls, tears piling up by your eyes, "spence."

  he lowers the gun, stuffing it into his holster as he runs over to you. spencer raises his hands up to your face, his fingers lingering by your eyes. his thumb runs along your cheeks as tears run down his own face. especially when he notices the blood covering your blouse and jeans. 

  "what happened? we have an ambulance here, an emt is making his way up as we speak. i should've been there with you, should've stopped him," spencer's eyes search the wounds on your body, making sure to unbound your hands. 

  you shake your head, your lip shaking as you can't find the words to answer his questions. a shiver runs along your arms, sending goosebumps down your body as spencer's hands press against your stomach. you wait for seconds, watching until the emt finally arrived. 

  "i'm jake, the emt. where have you been hurt?" he immediately opens his bag, his eyes looking between you and spencer. 

  spencer starts instructing him of the places he could find that seemed to have surpassed the skin. "thank you," you whisper to him as the emt patches up your stomach. the stitches running through your skin causes you hold onto spencer's hand, making sure to hold it tightly. 

  "you'll be okay, because i know you. you're strong, y/n. you survived this, that's what matters," spencer reaches his hands up to your cheeks again, smearing a little blood onto one of them. he stands up and kissing the top of your forehead. his lips are soft, yet slightly cracked from possible dehydration. 

  you look up at him, your head pounding from the loss of blood. and yet, the only thing you can think of is spencer. it's the best time to have your mind sidetracked, enamored with the love of your life instead of with the hasty stitches in your stomach. 

  "are you coming with to the hospital?" you question, your hand grabbing his, your eyes closing slowly as you start to feel the pain that the adrenaline can no longer hide. 

  "of course y/n, i would go to the ends of the earth with you. what's one hospital?" spencer smiles, bringing a little warmth to your evening. it may be to help you not realize just how freaked out he is, either way, his smile is exactly what you would've wanted to see last before passing out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fic

[nexysworld]

Road Trip 🎵

Requests are Open - Masterlist

Summary: A short fluffy oneshot where reader teases Olderboyfriend!Leon about his choice in music. Pairings: Older BF Leon x GN Reader Tags: Use of the F word This was inspired by this thread with @hxllfiredoll and @gigabyte-flare about DadRock!Leon. I loved it so much I just wanted to make a tiny blurb to start and explore that concept. (No hate I love dad rock tho lol)

You loved being in his Jeep, not only did it give you a great view of the scenery but it was the only vehicle you could trust Leon not to crash, finally there was no fear of forfeiting your life just for a road trip. However, for the past while you hadn’t been able to contain the soft giggles that kept escaping your lips while the wind blew your hair into a mess. “What’s so funny?” Leon asked, raising a thick blonde eyebrow at you. “N-nothing, nothing’s funny.” You said between stifling laughs. “Yeah right, you’ve been giggling over there for a good half hour now. What’s up?” “I just… Leon, is this really the music you listen to?” “Yeah, so what, got a problem with it?” “No it’s just, Alice in Chains really? That’s like my dad’s music.” “Ouch you wound me baby. I’ll have you know that Alice in Chains is a pinnacle of 90’s grunge. Their earlier work was a little too rough but when Dirt came out in 1992 I think they really came into their own.” “Thanks Patrick Bateman.” You said, rolling your eyes. 

The next song came on and Leon decided to  sing out loud obnoxiously tapping on the steering wheel cutting between lyrics as he drove. “♫ And I feel that time's a-wasting, go So where ya going to tomorrow? . . . And I feel it . . .Where ya going for tomorrow? ♫”

“God, the only thing worse than your choice in music is your singing.” You tossed an empty snack wrapper at him.

He laughed in return. “Fine, you want something more modern?” He pushed the button and removed the current mixtape before replacing it with another. Of course Leon still had a tape player in his car. “Oh god . . . Hawthorne Heights? That is not modern babe. I never pegged you for an emo kid though.” Leon shrugged and continued with his singing.” ♫ And all I had was the memory of what was . . . . I never thought I'd live to tell . . .What's a dream and what is real, the way I really feel ♫.”

“Stoooooooooop.” You groaned flicking through the other tapes in the glove compartment of the car. You finally settled on something you would listen to, popping the current tape out and replacing it. “Oh so Stone Temple Pilots and Hawthorne Heights is a no go, but Nine inch Nails is more your alley?” He chuckled when he heard you fast forward the tape until ‘Closer’ started playing. “You naughty, naughty thing.”

“I guess some dad rock can be okay.” “Dad rock, huh? Fuck am I getting old?” “Yeah you are.” You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “But I love ya anyway.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #len s kennedy x y/n #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #fanfiction #reader insert #fluff

[kiss-theggoat]

Think I’ll Keep You PT. 2

Bo Sinclair x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: You’ve been locked under Bo’s gas station for more than a month now when you finally start to think… maybe Ambrose isn’t so bad.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Bo is mean and manipulative (but isn’t he just so dreamy), reader has female anatomy and is referred to as “pretty girl” a few times

The buzzing yellow lights of the gas station basement became a sound you were used to as you woke up to them every single morning. You’d graduated from being duct taped to a random chair in the middle of the room, to just being locked inside with somewhat free roam. This had become a new normal. You’d hum as you walked around the room, trying to avoid Bo’s disturbing collection of perverted Polaroid photos. Looking at them worried you, and you wondered how long he kept each of those women. How much time you had left.

Free time in the basement was spent listening to Bo’s music while he worked, muffled by the floor. Waiting for Bo to be done so he could come spend time with you, this time either consisted of three things. Option one, he’d fuck you, then leave. Option two, he’d beat you, then leave. Option three, your favorite, he’d come down and talk with you for a bit. He’d sit on the nasty mattress on the other side of the room, and you’d talk about him, his brothers, his dog. Anything really. This option sometimes led to him taking you up to take a shower or getting you a change of clothes.

Unfortunately, your behavior didn’t affect which option you got. It was all up to how Bo was feeling that particular day. At first, you hated him. You hated him and his stupid gorgeous face, his dumb basement and the way he treated you. But the longer you stayed down here, hot, bored, and lonely, the more and more you looked forward to Bo’s visits, even if they resulted in bruises and cuts. Any attention was good attention, especially from Bo.

Today was day… you’d lost count. You tried to scratch tally’s into the wall, but gave up on day 29. This was at least a week ago. All you know is that it’s been more than a month. A month is all it took for you to become attached to Bo…

You could hear him walking around above you, turning on the radio and you thought today he must be in a good mood. You could hear him humming along to the music, moving around the gas station a lot more than usual. From what you could see through the grate, the sun was shining, but it didn’t feel as hot as it had been weeks before. A beautiful day outside. You wished you could see the sun, touch the grass. Bo made you jealous when he was talking about playing fetch with Daisy, Bo’s pitbull.

You sighed softly, standing on the chair in the center to peek through the grate. The yearning you felt was unmatched. You wanted him to be down here. More so, you wanted to be up there, but with him. You wanted to help him in the gas station, play with him and his dog bathed the beautiful blue sky with the warm wind blowing through your hair. But you knew asking for this wouldn’t blow over well. You’d never asked to leave the basement, you knew it’d make him mad.

How could you get him down here, convince him that you wanted to stay here, with him. You decided to try to get his attention, despite the music blaring, you needed him to hear you. You looked around for something to get his attention. After not seeing anything to make enough noise, you got an idea. You unbuttoned the pair of Jean shorts he had given you a couple days ago, sliding them off and holding them while pushing the button up.

You slid the button up and down the grate, making a loud clattering noise that was loud enough, at least you hoped it was. You did this for a couple seconds until you finally heard the music turn down, you knew it had worked. Sliding the shorts back on your legs distracted you from the crunching footsteps as boots approached the grate.

Bo crouched over it, staring at you from outside. He looked handsome today.

“What can I do for ya, Darlin’?”

“Can I talk to you please?” You asked softly, keeping your hands down at your sides.

He chuckled. He seemed amused with your question. “Shoot.”

“Can I…come out please? I…I want to, uhm… it looks nice out today and I thought…maybe I could help you around town. Meet Daisy. Or Vincent.” You stared up at him, having to squint with how bright the sun was on your eyes, which had been accustomed to the dark lighting of the basement.

He stared down at you, way too long for your comfort. His face revealed nothing, features stoic and unmoving, until he finally spoke. “Help me around town?”

You nodded quickly. He sighed, turning his head to state off into the distance. “Listen sweetheart, there’s a lotta stuff to do today…”

“I can help, I promise. I just want to…hang out with you, I guess.”

He snorted. “Hang out?” He shook his head a little bit. “You’re a weird one. Alright, gimme a second.”

You saw him walk away, and after a few seconds, heard him coming down the stairs. Your heart could jump from your chest. Excitement coursed through your veins, your smile wouldn’t leave. The lock clicked and the knob turned, revealing Bo, looking handsome as ever.

You slowly walked forward, needing approval from him to get close to him. He reached forward and grabbed your arm. “You stick with me. Got it?”

You nodded. He held your bicep, hard, and yanked you close, whispering in your ear. “If you run, you’re as good as dead.”

Staring into his eyes, you knew he was serious. You didn’t want to run anyways, you just needed to be outside. He led you up the stairs slowly, and you squinted immediately when the sunlight hit your skin. The glowing light engulfed you. You felt direct warmth on you for the first time in weeks. A sigh of relief left you. You felt like you could cry. The breeze moved over you, and you could smell the sweet blooming trees, and thankfully none of the roadkill that Bo’s brother, Lester collects.

A smile split your cheeks. “It’s so nice today.” You said softly, turning to Bo who still had a grip on your bicep. He was staring at you, a look of surprised affection on his face. If you weren’t so focused on enjoying the outside, you’d have seen the way he watched you walk, fondness softening his eyes.

“Alright darlin’ let’s getcha cleaned up.”

An hour later, you had showered, changed into fresh clothes, and you were convinced this was heaven on earth. You felt so happy and close to Bo, being in his home during the day with him giving you the freedom to shower alone. An air of domesticity settled in the house as you walked down the stairs, where you were met with Bo finishing a beer, half of a sandwich left on his plate. He held it out to you, and you very gladly accepted it.

After your shower and lunch, you and Bo walked up to the gas station. “Okay pretty girl, I need you to clean up a bit here. I’m gonna be in the garage workin’ on Lester’s truck. That sound manageable?”

You nodded quickly, smiling at him. You immediately grabbed the cleaning supplies underneath the front counter. The supplies were old and nearly empty, but you could work with them. You began with dusting the counters and shelves, and then wiping things down with Clorox wipes. You cleaned for a while, losing track of time, only being pulled from your trance by the phone ringing.

You jumped. There was a phone in this place? You turned to see Bo answer it, his face scrunched with frustration. He spoke quietly, you couldn’t understand him, but it didn’t look good. The last thing you wanted was for him to take this out on you, so you started to clean as fast as you possibly could, sanitizing and reorganizing what was left on the rickety shelves, looking back at him every so often. The second time you looked back, he was gone. You turned back to the shelf, jumping when you noticed he was standing right next to you.

You stared up at him in fear, nervous for what he was going to say to you.

“Lester just called and let me know there’s a group comin into town.” He said in a hushed tone.

You froze. A group. Just like yours. You knew this was a scheme they had, Bo explained a little bit to you about what him and Vincent wanted from Ambrose, but seeing them plan it out this way was so eye opening. Your heart began racing, but you nodded at him.

“I need ya down in the basement until they leave. And I need ya silent.” He turned to look through the glass of the gas station. “Ah shit… okay. Stay here.”

Bo walked quickly out of the gas station, and you heard him talk, the same exact spiel he gave you. “What can I do for y’all?”

You heard another man speak. “You Bo? We need a fan belt.” You walked quickly to the window, trying to stay hidden behind a shelf. You made eye contact with one of the girls standing outside. You knew you were in trouble, you quickly ran back over to the shelf you were cleaning.

The door opened, and a group of young adults, seemingly just a bit younger than you, walked inside. You kept your eyes down on the shelf, but started to hum a song to seem more casual about being there. Bo’s voice was loud, louder than usual, and you know that he wanted you to hear what he was saying.

“I got some fan belts in the garage, don’t know if I got the size you need. If not, I got some more up at my house. Not too far away from here.”

The group didn’t answer him, instead, the guy who asked Bo for help in the first place followed him into the garage, along with a girl. Two others walked into the store part of the station, where you were currently pretending to be much busier than you actually were.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You froze. They were most definitely speaking to you. With your best and most convincing smile on, you turned around to look at them. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I use the restroom?”

You were stiff. Frozen. You couldn’t approve it and make a decision without Bo, but your adamant refusal might seem suspicious and tip them off that something was wrong.

“Sorry…out a order. Toilet’s not workin’…” you said with a smile and a shrug, putting on your best southern drawl. It sounded dramatic, but better than nothing.

“Does… any other store in town have one?”

“Not sure…I know Bo’s got a workin’ one at his place.” You said, nodding your head towards Bo and the other guy, who just received the news that Bo only had a 15 or 22 inch fan belt, not a 17. Watching the other kids walk towards Bo, you felt sorry for them. You knew exactly what was about to happen…but at the same time, you were upset at them. Angry at them for jeopardizing your time outside. This could make Bo decide he never wants to take you out again. You scowled at the group, arms crossing and body tilting to lean on one hip.

“I’m sure I got a 17 up at the house. Really, it’s not far.” Bo insisted, casually against the counter, the same counter where he had flirted with you weeks ago. The same counter where you cemented your fate here in Ambrose.

You watched the kids follow Bo sullenly, knowing what was going to happen to them. You had a feeling Bo wanted you back in the basement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to walk back down those disgusting creaky stairs, so you sat and waited for any sign of life.

You thought it’d never come. You thought Bo had killed all the kids and was too busy to come check on you, that was until around 11 pm. It was pitch black at this point, crickets chirping and cold breeze alleviating the suffocating humidity. A red handprint had shown up on your cheek from how you were leaning against your hand. You’d found an old magazine to read through, but seeing as most of this was from around ten years ago, it wasn’t the least bit interesting.

The door to the gas station swung open, hitting the wall behind it hard, nearly hard enough to break the window seated within. You nearly jumped out of your skin, stool screeching against the floor as you stood abruptly.

It was the man who had first asked about the toilet. Your entire body was stiff. What the hell were you supposed to do?

“Oh thank god! Please, please you have to help me, someone’s killing us! My friends, she’s…they’re dead…please, please do you have a phone?!” The man ran towards you, getting close enough to show you a pretty sizeable gash in his forehead, blood leaking into his right eye. You didn’t know what to do, so you decided to stall.

“Alright, calm down, tell me what happened…”

“We went to the house, the guy that took us fucking killed Rob! The lights all went out and I ran out of the house, Jessica was killed outside, please!”

He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you hard. Your heart broke for him, but you knew if you showed him the phone, Bo would kill you. He’d hate you. That was almost worse to you at this point. You looked outside the window. No sign of Bo.

“Where…where’s he now? Bo, the man that took you to the house?”

“I don’t fucking know, please just get me a phone!”

“Alright just…just sit here I’ll go get the phone.” You guided him over to your stool, watching him hesitantly take a seat and touch the wound on his forehead. He winced. You walked away, out of his sight. You were shaking, had absolutely no idea what to do, you paced and chewed on your fingernail. That was until you bumped into Bo’s workbench. Looking over at the wooden surface to a hammer sitting out in the open, almost like a sign, an answer from Bo himself.

The handle of the hammer felt rough, almost spiky in your soft palm. Soft footsteps led you back towards the poor innocent kid who was cradling his head in his hands. Once you stood on the other side of the counter, his eyes raised to meet yours, and it occurred to you how suspicious you looked, fake smile plastered on your face, hands behind your back.

He tensed up. “Where’s your phone?” He asked quietly. It was obvious at this point he didn’t trust you.

You needed to do this now, your courage was fading fast. “I’m sorry…” you mumbled. You pulled the hammer back behind your head, closed your eyes, and swung it as hard as you could. With a sickening crack and a thud, you knew that you’d just killed someone. You dropped the hammer and turned around, your heart was pounding, chest heaving, stomach churning.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

You knew that smooth voice from anywhere. You turned to see Bo, a shocked expression on his face. Thank god he was here. Without thinking of the consequences you walked to him quickly, wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

“I didn’t know what to do.” You whispered into his chest, inhaling his scent that was so uniquely him. Sweat, grease, cigarette smoke, and manly cologne. You could feel yourself calming down, and with this came the realization that he was holding you. He didn’t push you off or tell you to let go, his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, his head placed atop yours in an almost romantic embrace. Your heart skipped a beat, suddenly, he was all you could think about. Nothing else mattered.

“You did good, darlin’.”

You didn’t want to move, you hoped this would never end. Bo’s hands slowly trailed from the sides of your arms, to the center of your shoulders, down your spine to the small of your back with no intention of stopping. They hit the waistline of your shorts, where you felt deft fingers slip beneath.

“My pretty girl, hm?” His voice reverberated in his chest against your ear. You looked up at him to finally see his face close up. Sweaty, cuts on his lip and blood staining his nose. He’d never looked better. You leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Something Bo and you had never done. Bo’s had his way with you many times, but they were all cold, for his couple minutes of fun and nothing more. He’s never kissed you, held you, complimented you this much.

His hands went up your shirt, squeezing your chest tight in his rough palms. A whimper escaped your lips to find refuge in his, your needy hands tugging at the collar of his coveralls. You could feel the cocky smirk he wore as he muttered, “Patience, sweetheart.”

Patience? You felt like you’ve been “patient” for the last month. Screw patience. One hand moved lower, palming his growing bulge through the thick material. A small, heavenly groan left him, but you were distracted by your shirt being yanked over your head. Your bare chest was on display, and though this has happened time and time before, you felt nervous this time. Like this was the time that really counted. You decided that to you, this was your first time sleeping with Bo. That made you happier.

Strong hands slid over the backs of your thighs down to your knees, you squealed as your feet left the ground. Bo heaved you up, your legs tight around his waist and his hands on your ass the entire time he carried you to the counter. The second he sat you down, he was unbuttoning your shorts, pulling them down all the way over your shoes, which he didn’t bother to take off.

It felt like a match sparked as he slammed his lips against yours again. He unzipped the front of his coveralls as he distracted you, letting them fall to his waist. He wore only a sweaty, bloody white t-shirt and a pair of boxers beneath. He decided taking everything off would be too much time wasted, so he grabbed the waistline of your underwear, pulled them off your legs, then pushed his own over his thighs, just enough. You wanted to see more of him, but figured that'd come in due time.

Almost without warning, Bo was pushing himself into you. Even though you were accustomed to his size, it still burned whenever he decided to fuck you. This time you were more prepared though, making the initial sting less intense. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, feet hooked around his hips. He leaned over you, pushing completely inside you.

“That’s it, darlin…” he groaned, head leaning back. You thought you might melt, the way he spoke to you, the way his veins flexed whenever he grabbed onto your hand, the way his neck muscles tensed while he talked. Everything about him to you was perfect.

Your coherent thoughts were quickly overrun by overwhelming pleasure, Bo thrusting at a slow and steady pace, something he doesn’t usually do. He was fucking you different, and you had never been more thankful for anything in your entire life. This was the best you’ve felt all month. Scratch that, at this point, you can’t remember feeling such a sense of pride and accomplishment ever, even before you stumbled upon Ambrose.

Bo captured your lips in a needy kiss and you could taste the warm blood from his small cuts there. You didn’t mind. Your trembling hands came up to cup his face, holding him as close to your body as physically possible. Loud moans forced you to separate, but you rested your forehead against his, feeling each jagged breath and bead of sweat. His eyes were closed, and from the looks of it, he was close. You knew you were too, you could feel it in your stomach and your legs and your chest. Your entire body was on fire and Bo was to blame.

He held onto your hand, face scrunched in pleasure and voice raising a few octaves, forehead still flush with yours.

“Bo…” you moaned, “I’m gonna cum.” The sentence barely left your lips, your brain felt like a bowl of melted goo.

He groaned out a response, and your chest swelled with pride knowing you made him feel like this. “Cum for me pretty girl,” he moaned, a slight whine present in his voice.

That was all you needed. With a scream, you came, trying as hard as you could to keep your eyes open to focus on Bo as he came. He grabbed your hips tight, thrusting hard one last time as he came inside you.

His head rested against your shoulder, and you panted to catch your breath, legs dangling uselessly off of the counter. You held onto him for dear life, fingers anchored in the skin of his back. You didn’t want him just to leave, ruin the moment, validate your fear that you were crazy and this time wasn’t different, you just thought it was.

You tensed when you felt him kiss the side of your neck. He was still holding onto you, bodies pressed against each other.

“I was right y’ know…” he said softly.

You responded, “hm?”

“About someone like you livin’ here. Makes Ambrose a little bit better.”

Your heart could melt. Bo was hard on you, and some days, all you could think about was your parents, who were probably worried sick looking for you. But, if this is what life could be like here in Ambrose, you weren’t sure you ever wanted to leave.

A/N: I wasn’t really sure where to go with this one but I actually really like it! Feel free to leave comments or suggestions for new stories, I need some ideas :)

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror fanfiction #house of wax fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction