#and i have a deep-seated need to be creepy this month
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I'll Never Meet Another You - Part 1
📺 【 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 】📺
𝐀/𝐍: Is that...? Oh my god- It's the sound of another WIP in my endless void of fanfic ideas that managed to see the light of day!! It also means I've added another demon husband to my ✨cOlLeCtIoN✨
So, I'm definitely doing a continuation of this- I was having WAY too much fun writing it.
Enjoy your yandere, stalking, creepy-ass television man! :)
. . .
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏,𝟒𝟏𝟓
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐯, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴛᴀɴɢᴏ | ᴀᴜᴛᴏʜᴇᴀʀᴛ
. . .
Electricity bounced across clawed, neon-blue fingertips as Vox’s collection of monitors booted up, lining the walls in a cyan-hued excess of the latest tech his company manufactured.
With but a wave of his hand, the devices were slaves to his command.
As Vox sat upon his electronic throne that was centered before it all, he closed every work-related tab within his mental browser, before slumping in his seat within the darkness. The demon rubbed where the bridge of his nose would’ve been with a stressed crease in his brows; a little habit that he had acquired from his life above.
To say it had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century. For the first twelve hours since he had emerged from his quarters, Vox had been bombarded with underlings shoving incessant workloads into his lap.
Ensuring the reputation of the Vees, the new VoxTech Angelic Security system that he had been developing, the countless amount of paperwork and maintaining the digital grid, and to top it all off, he had to manage the temper of one pissed-off Valentino.
Ugh... Fuckin' Val and his goddamn runaways... it's not my fucking fault he can't manage his toys.
Dealing with the lustful moth Overlord's temper tantrums were usually the absolute highlights of Vox's day, but this time in particular there was quite the treat in store for the overworked Overlord.
Hm... Maybe that's how the name came to be. Ah, who am I kidding? Velv just sits on her ass all day.
Of course, Vox pushed his indignation aside and swept everything up with a winning smile of pure showmanship, the pinnacle of excellence in front of the public.
And just as everything seemed to fall into place, like any other day of Vox cleaning up the messes of his fellow Overlords, something just had to go fucking wrong.
Imagine being the literal fucking backbone of the Vees, ensuring that their picture-perfect reputation of utmost excellence and being called up by an irritated Velvet to play babysitter and manage the man-child because of fucking Angel Dust-
And then catching wind of ḧ̴͇͕́̍i̷̡̹͋͂̓m̵͈͔̳̭̙̍͝ returning...
A few sparks flew from Vox's antenna as his overheated fans whirred rapidly. That old timey, triangle-assed p̴̲̩̮͙̜̎́̋r̸͓̟͆̀͆i̸̼͕͓̺̹̪̔͛͊̋͗c̸̢̤̐͂͜k̵̻̭̦̣̪͈̕-̸̢̡̪͇̖̈́...
Slowly, he took a deep breath, stretching his knuckles and tilting his head to the side with a deep frown. He had the evening to himself, now. No Radio-Pricks, no need to maintain the perfect facade he had so carefully crafted for himself and his allies, and no Valentino.
Time to unwind...
A cup of coffee materialized in his hand with a spark of electricity that lingered around his hand, dancing upon his fingers. He scooted just a bit closer to the large, main monitor within the center of TVs installed in his office, and his mental request was immediately answered by the large computer screen before him.
A zipped file containing possibly the most sensitive information that you couldn’t fucking torture out of the television demon happened to be the very first result of his search, almost teasing him with the overtness of his little obsession.
Vox clicked on the file quicker than ever before, and he took a long, slow sip of his drink as he focused solely upon the pretty little blessing that had graced his screens since a few months ago.
You were lounging on your couch, scrolling haphazardly on your phone in your less-than ideal apartment, but hey, it worked for you, so who was Vox to judge? Even if he would've placed you in one of the most mind-bogglingly extravagant penthouses that you'd ever seen in your afterlife, he had no qualms as long as you remained untouched.
And luckily, his position and occupation made it more than easy to ensure that you had no one in particular in mind to take his place.
No matter where you were, or what you were doing, nothing about you remained unseen by Vox, and no stone was left unturned when it came to your private life.
And Vox was always there. Watching. Adoring you through digitally enamored eyes without moving an inch from his seat.
Small, pixelated hearts floated across his interface as you looked through your phone, blessing him with a plethora of reactions. Whether it be with a small pout of your lips, to the furrow of your brows, to that cute giggle-snort you made whenever something seemed funny to you, the electronic Overlord drank it up like red wine from a golden cup glorified by gods themselves.
Lord, Vox had it bad.
Every step you took, every breath you inhaled, every purchase you made, every club or restaurant you went to, your exact order at your favorite diner, your taste in fashion and jewelry, he memorized every fact, photo, and video and saved it all in a private file.
It was Vox's most precious possession, the closest he could ever get to you, for now.
Vox’s smile stretched across his flat-screen face; a neon hue of razor-sharp teeth pulled into a fond simper as the sound of your chiming laughter rang out across his office.
How he wished to capture the sound, perhaps place it into a bottle for him, and only him to hear, your smile a treasure of the rarest quality to keep.
There was no doubt about it, Vox was your number one fan.
More monitors across the room lit up, whether it be with your beautiful face or your soft, angelic singing, there was nothing but you, you...
Y̵̼̜̿o̴̝͕̾ṷ̸̇.̶͈͍̎̔ ̵̟̒̚
Vox hated the idea of having to share this with anyone else. Share you with anyone else. Every time he ended the night like this, he had to fight the urge to steal you away and seat you upon your rightful place, a throne beside his, towering above his empire with no unworthy, sinful eyes to look upon you.
“Huh... I’ve actually always wondered what that ‘Vox’ guy is like in real life...” said demon froze at the sound of his name pouring from your lips, and a soft blush mixed with the bright blue glow of his face, coloring it a light lavender pink. You were talking to yourself again, something Vox binged like a talk show whenever he was off work.
He could watch you all day like this. And God knows that he would massacre any number of demons, conquer any area of territory simply for a few minutes in your presence.
A casual conversation, witty banter, fuck, he'd rather talk about the goddamn weather with you than be deprived of your presence any longer. Not behind a screen, but in person.
Vox needed something, anything with you, romantic or platonic, though the former would surely grow an insatiable craving, if you kept teasing him like this.
He needed you to be there for him, to just treat him like a person.
Vox normally wouldn't mind the fact that he was always perfecting himself for others, catering to their every desire. A machine. Meant to serve the masses, and in turn, they'd fall to their feet before him like flies to honey, insatiable, pathetic worms.
But it'd drive anyone to the brink of fucking insanity, to keep up the same, cheery yet suave charade every draining day.
And with you? Even if you never knew about your secret admirer’s ever-prying eyes watching your every step, it felt like Vox didn't need to put on a show for you. He could simply watch and listen as you, sweet, mischievous, lovable you talked his ears off for the rest of his day.
What I'd give to just kiss the hell out of her-
“Heh, he’s actually kind of cute. Y’know, for a TV, I guess...” you giggled at the end of your sentence as you scrolled through more photos of him, drinking up every piece of content that featured the demon that was watching you through your camera.
A little side-menu of exactly what you had been looking through immediately popped up, and an intense zapping noise from above signaled to Vox that, once again, the demon was two seconds away from overheating and having to reboot himself as he nearly spit out his hot drink.
Vox nearly short-circuited in his seat as you smiled warmly down at your phone, directly into his eyes as his cold, mechanical heart pounded in his chest, and bright red spread across his screen like a virus.
“Oh... Ohoho...”
“Now that’s good television...”
. . .
End Notes: Ok, holy SHIT-
I really like this one. Like GODDAMN this was so fun to write!! I'll definitely be doing headcanons for yandere Hazbin Hotel very soon. Also, that A03 shit I just pulled at the end? You're welcome ;)
Btw I'm working on my Masterlist, so if anyone has requests or drabbles that they'd like to enter, don't be afraid to ask! I think I'll make some rules clear later, like no EXTREME asks or kinks or anything like that.
Smut is on the table though don't be afraid lmao. I'll be the one shaking in my boots when I'm about to post it- 😓
Anyway, thanks for reading!! See you next time✨
#vox x reader#vox x you#yandere hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#yandere vox x reader#obssesion#he is literally a tv#like actually#but hes kinda babygirl so-#tw stalking#possessive behavior#yourdoorisunlocked
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Always Return to You (Shanks x Reader NSFW)
Warnings: Some guys being creepy, gn afab! reader, love confessions, slight exhibitionism (the tavern is closed but yknow), PiV sex, creampie, not beta read
WC: 2.8k
Summary: You and Shanks have been flirting for a while now and you can’t help but wonder if it’s just entertainment for him- or if he has the same feelings that you do.
Note: I mean there’s a reason he’s bagged Buggy and Mihawk. This man has skills. This man has swagger. I hope I captured a sliver of his BDE.
When the Red Haired Pirates rolled into town you always knew you were in for some long nights serving at the local bar. You didn’t mind though, they always tipped well, were significantly nicer than your average pirate, and then, of course, there was the captain.
You never know what to make of Shanks. Logically you know he’s got a huge bounty and a reputation for being one of the strongest pirates in all the seas. But when he rolls into the bar with a lopsided grin and the laugh of a man who doesn’t have a worry you can’t see a terrifying pirate.
His crew and him hang around your bar for a week every few months while they restock in a large port nearby and you can’t help but look forward to when his ship cruises in. You’ve built quite the friendship up with Shanks over the years, finding him easy to get along with and easier to talk to. The two of you have shared stories until the morning hours and despite everything he’s experienced he still cares and pays attention to yours as much as you do his.
And, if you are able to admit just to yourself, you love the flirting. Shanks flirts with everyone, and you’re no exception to his wandering gaze and cheeky words. Even though his affections are not only for you you can’t help but feel special when his eyes travel down your figure. You give it as good as he gives too and Shanks always loves it, but neither of you have ever crossed that line.
He’s a pirate captain. You’re just some server. It’s never going to happen.
But that doesn’t stop the pang of jealousy you feel every time you see him leave the bar with someone else tucked under his arm. You would never do or say anything but deep down you wonder how it feels to have that strong hand on the small of your back or that bright red hair in your fingers while his head was-
“Did ya miss me?” You almost drop a drink when you hear Shank’s voice right next to you.
Looking up you see him leaning on the bar next to you, that stupid lopsided smile on his face. You have to fight down embarrassment that he just caught you in the middle of thoughts about him. Having been brought back to reality you finally notice the rest of his crew taking seats in the tavern, rowdy in a way that makes you feel like you’re having fun as well.
“Do you think I wait around for you to come back?” You don’t look at him, just continue loading drinks onto your tray for the other large party of pirates here.
“Of course not.” He slides a bit closer and helps you balance the final drinks. “Just thinkin’ about how I missed lookin’ at you.”
You shoot him an annoyed look, but there’s no malice behind it. “Yeah, yeah. You say that to everyone.”
“But I mean it with you.” He fires back.
“Keep dreaming.” You say as you walk away to deliver the drinks.
“Always of you baby!” He shouts with a laugh, finally moving back to his crew.
You roll your eyes but can’t help the large grin that comes over your face. Shanks has a way of making the atmosphere lighter and honestly, you needed it tonight.
The Red Haired Pirates weren’t the only group in here tonight- some low level scumbags occupied half of the tavern and you cringed when you turned to deliver their drinks and got greeted with drunken catcalls. But you took a deep breath and pushed all your emotions down as you handed everyone their drinks. At least with Shank’s crew here you know someone will tip well tonight.
Throughout the night you hover around the Red Haired Pirates, seeking the kind reprieve from the more obnoxious guests of the night. Everyone is kind to you and you catch up on the adventures they had while they were away. You don’t pay special attention to Shanks, but you can feel his gaze on you whenever you’re around. The way he looks at you versus the way everyone else does- it’s hard to place what’s different logically but it just is. You feel safe with Shanks, no matter what you know that if you ever seriously said no he would back off, which is not something you’d trust most men to do.
As the night wears on everyone gets drunker and sloppier and the guests start getting worse and worse. It’s becoming exhausting to ignore the hoots and hollers mixed with nasty whispers when you bring the next round of drinks. The Red Haired Pirates have been slowly leaving as the night wore on and not having that buffer was starting to take its toll. Luckily, Shanks was still there.
Despite the amount of drink you know he’s had he’s surprisingly composed as he sits back in the wooden booth. His gaze has something stirring underneath it and you follow his sight line over to the other crew of pirates. Sliding him another drink you decide to question him.
“They a rival crew or something?” You can’t imagine that sloppy group could compare to Shank’s crew, but you weren’t sure what else it could be.
“No.” He doesn’t stop staring. “But if those dirty assholes don’t stop eye-fucking you they are going to regret it.”
Oh.
His words stop your thoughts in your tracks and you can feel your brain having to hard reboot. Your body has no issues though and you can feel arousal pool down in your belly.
“You don’t-“ You stumble over your words as your brain finally catches up. “It’s not a big deal.”
Shanks finally turns his gaze to you and seeing him serious is a strange feeling. “It should be. You want me to deal with them?”
You glance back over at them and then down to your watch. “It’s almost closing anyways. They aren’t worth your time.”
“But you are.” When he says things like that normally he’s usually smiling with a light tilt to his voice but this time he’s deep and sincere. Your heart goes head over heels in your chest.
“I have to- um-“ You point back to the bar where a few patrons are waiting to pay their tabs.
“I’ll stay with you while you close, alright?” His words calm you, no longer having to worry about if any of your more unsavory guests are going to try and hang around after hours. You nod and smile at him before walking back to the bar to finish up your night.
You’re not sure if Shank’s egregious glaring was the reason the final hours of the night went so smooth but you’re certainly not complaining. The rowdy patrons slowly filter out as you start to clean up and Shanks is surprisingly helpful, putting up chairs while you mop the floor. However, thoughts have been gnawing at the back of your head.
Finally having everything cleaned up and ready for tomorrow you and Shanks head for the door but you stop halfway and have to speak up. “Shanks, can I ask you something?”
He stops and turns on his heels, slight concern on his face. “Of course.”
“Do you-“ Embarassment works its way up your neck and you avoid Shank’s gaze. “I just have to know if-“
Shanks is patient with you, not speaking as he walks closer to you.
“Do you actually like me.” You finally manage to spit out. “Because we have this thing and it’s fun but sometimes I wonder if this is how you act with everyone or-“
Your words trail off and there’s silence. After a few moments you work up the courage and look up at Shanks. His bright red hair falls over his face as he seems lost in thought. You don’t notice his arm moving until his hand interlinks in yours.
“I don’t think like is really the word I’d use.” He brings your hand up and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Love might be more appropriate.”
“You can’t just say things like that.” There’s no hiding your embarrassment now, a blush probably covering every inch of your body.
“Why not?” He uses his hold to pull you in closer, your chest grazing his. “It’s true.”
“And you’re not just going to sail away and leave me here?” You squeeze his hand, searching in his eyes if he’s telling the truth.
“I always come back for you, don’t I? I certainly don’t keep coming back here for the food.” His eyes are shining and he has that signature grin back in his face.
“You’d keep coming back to me?” Your other arm comes up and drapes around his shoulder.
“Nothing could stop me.” There’s a sincerity and strength to his words that has you melting.
His face is so close to your now that he’s taking over your senses. You can smell the beer you’ve been serving him but the strong scent of the sea will probably always linger on him. You move closer, his lips painfully close to yours.
“Are you sure-“ You don’t even finish your question before Shanks has closed the small distance between you.
You’ve imagined what it would like to kiss him countless times but actually kissing him blows all of your fantasies out of the water. Slow but confident movements have you melting into him. His hand releases yours and snakes around to the small of your back, pulling your body flush with his. He doesn’t let up until you’re breathless, pulling away with a gasp.
Shanks rests his forehead against yours patiently giving you time to breathe again. Turning your gaze up you lock eyes with Shanks again and you see a flash of hunger in his gaze before he’s kissing you again. Your knees go weak and you feel the low rumble of Shank’s chuckle as he starts to lead you backwards until you feel the back of your knees connect with a table. Breaking away again you hop up to sit on the table, hands coming up to grab Shanks by the collar of his shirt to pull him in again. His legs go between yours, forcing your thighs apart as he leans over you.
“So.” His mouth comes down to your neck, words spoken in between opened mouthed kisses to the skin there. “You want me to bring you back to my ship now or bring you back to my ship after I’ve fucked you on this table.”
The moan that leaves you is involuntary and you hook your legs around his waist, hoping that answers his question for him. It doesn’t.
“Oh c’mon I want to hear you say it.” He comes back up to look you in the eyes. You try to turn away in embarrassment but his hand comes up and softly redirects your chin back to him.
“I want you to fuck me on this table.” You whisper, catching the way his pupils dilate at your words.
“That’s it sweetheart.” He returns to attacking your neck as your arms come up around his neck.
Using your grip you drag you hips up to his and grind down, moaning when you feel his clothed erection through the layers of fabric. Unable to help himself he ruts his hips into yours, biting down into your neck.
“Eager, aren’t we?” His hand is at the waistband of your pants, slipping under and down to your center. Fingers quickly find your folds and he chuckles when he feels how soaked you are.
“Been thinking about you all night.” You confess, lifting up into his touch.
“Fuck, me too.” He kisses you with a renewed heat and you gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers push into you.
Taking advantage of that his tongue enters your mouth and you let yourself be swept up in the sensations. Two calloused fingers scissor inside you and you grip Shank’s bright red hair at the base of his neck.
It isn’t long until Shanks is pulling his fingers out and you whine at the loss. You’re about to complain until you see him bring his fingers up to his mouth and lick your slick off.
“Shit you taste good sweetheart.” You moan at his words and the heels of your shoes dig into his back. “Should I get a better taste now or later?”
Damn him and his choices. “Later- I need you inside me.”
You both break away for a few moments to fumble with your pants and you kick yours off fast, the wood cold against your bare ass. When Shanks’ pants come down you can’t help but stare. He’s big and while you are slightly afraid he’s not going to fit you would be lying if you weren’t up for the challenge.
Shanks seems equally captivated by you, his hand pushing your thighs apart so he can get a better look. “I could feel you were soaked but damn, all this for me baby?”
“Just for you.” Those words seemed to be exactly what Shanks wanted to hear because he wastes no more time.
Gripping himself he drags the tip of his cock through your slick, mixing it with the precum leaking out of him. He slaps his tip onto your clit and your hands shoot out to his shoulders to stead yourself.
“Stop being such a tease.” You huff.
“Oh c’mon you know you love it.” But he relinquishes to you, lining himself up with your entrance.
Even just the push of his tip into you stretches you and you take deep breaths as he slowly sinks further into you. The stretch rides the line between pain and pleasure and you claw at Shanks’ back.
“You’re doing so good for me baby. Taking me so well.” He whispers in you ear, soothing you as you adjust to his size.
It takes you a bit for the pain to completely fade into pleasure as he sits in you as far as he can go. When you’re finally ready for him to move again you nod, and Shanks begins to move. His pace is slow and you feel every inch of him drag in and out of you.
“Fuck baby you’re so tight.” His head is pressed against your shoulder as he uses all of his self control to go slow with you.
“I just think-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he bottoms out again. “That you’re just fucking big.”
Shanks laughs. “Two things can be true.”
You can’t stop the smile that comes over your face. His sense of humor was infectious like that. Your laughs turn into a moan as he picks up the pace, and you can’t help but feel like you’re being split in half. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he pulls you in for more deep kisses.
The slow build of your orgasm comes creeping up on you, your walls clenching around Shanks. You know he feels it because he stops kissing you to let out a deep groan as his thrusts stutter. It doesn’t take him long to recover though and when he trusts into you again it’s faster and deeper than before. His hand comes down between the two of you and his skilled fingers work your clit while he whispers in your ear.
“Need you to cum on my cock baby. Want you to remember this every time you work. Can you do that? Cum all over this table for me baby?” His filthy words and fast movements send you spiraling and it’s not long before you’re cuming with a scream.
Shanks isn’t too far behind you. “Where-“
You don’t need him to finish his sentence and you use the remaining strength in your legs to lock his hips to yours. He cums deep inside you with a shudder and you’ve never felt so full.
The two of you sit there intertwined as you both come down from your orgasms, heavy breaths the only noise in the room. When he finally pulls out you can feel his cum begin to leak out of you and you have to admit you love the feeling.
“I’ll be right back.” Shanks kisses your forehead as he walks away for a moment but comes back with a damp rag to clean you and the table up.
“So.” You link your arms around his neck. “I think you might have to carry me back to your ship.”
That lopsided grin is back on his face. “Baby if it were up to me I’d carry you everywhere.”
“So romantic.”
“Anything for the person I love.” He grabs your hand again, kissing your knuckles.
You know life will be hard with a partner who’s a notorious pirate, but you know your heart is his and you wouldn’t want it any other way.
#one piece x reader#one piece x you#shanks x reader#red haired shanks x reader#x reader#discordantwritings
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“No Nut November” Pt.1
| Repost: 01.10.23 | 1.3K | Mature |
NRC 1st Years X GN!Reader
| CHARACTERS 18+ | Sexual Themes | Masturbation | Flirting | Sorta Creepy | Etc. | Proceed with Caution, Dearest. |
♡ ACE TRAPPOLA ♡
LOSER #ONE
Swore he wouldn’t fail. Would not shut the fuck up. Would constantly brag about how well he did. When it’s only been a day. He’s the most likely to fail on the 1st day. Not even most likely, he does. That’s mad embarrassing but will most definitely lie for the entire month.
He 100% blames you. You just happened to wear a hot-ass outfit [very very casual relaxation clothes] when he came to Ramshackle after school, he swears you did it on purpose. When he returns to Heartslabyul, exhausted from studying but trying to hide his hard-on, he makes a beeline for the bathroom. Nearly ripping his belt off, biting his bottom lip as his hands make contact with his dick.
“This is all your fault—”
♡ DEUCE SPADE ♡
LOSER #TWO
Definitely was aware of No Nut November, but didn’t really get the hype, nor were girls really attracted to him during his delinquent days. [He’s lying. Deuce had girls flocking to him in droves. He’s just oblivious] Deuce doesn’t really view himself as a sexual person until he met you. Unlike Ace, he’s taking it seriously. He’s gonna prove he has self-restraint and is better than Ace. Fails on the 2nd day, partly because he forgot, but also because you smiled at him. He won’t lie, but at the same time will dance around the topic for the rest of November. It’s pretty obvious to everyone he failed.
He swears he isn’t some sexual deviant. You’re just so kind and sweet, and a wonderful person. He can’t help himself. The thought doesn’t cross his mind’ til he’s already close. Laying on his side, his face shoves further into the fabric of your shirt. He lets out a choked groan, desperately fucking his fist. He’s already so close, might as well finish. You won’t ever know.
“... I’m sorry, [Name]...”
♡JACK HOWL ♡
LOSER #THREE
Let’s be honest. Jack knows and finds it annoying, like what’s the purpose? Will definitely participate when Ace makes fun of him for not being able to last. He’s competitive. Will act all high and mighty and honestly does well. I give him 15 days at most before he breaks. He most likely forgot the first 10 days, but then started to notice you a lot more, like the way your eyes seem to sparkle, and your laugh is something he can’t ignore. The next 5, he’s forcing himself through and is becoming mad grumpy, cause well.
Says fuck it the moment he sees your skin that’s usually covered. [You showed him a portion of your stomach or bare legs, he’s going feral] Before you can say a thing, Jack is already gone, deciding that he’d be unable to walk into his dorm without drawing attention to himself, he’s deep in the forest. Leaning against a tree, imagining his hand is you. At Least he doesn’t have to clean up much. He’s slightly guilty for the next few days, but won’t tell you, but you will see an influx of gifts.
“This is so embarrassing…”
♡ EPEL FELMIER ♡
LOSER #FOUR
Almost as loud as Ace, with his bragging. Especially with just your friend's group, no Vil or Rook in sight. He’s letting his country accent fly, with not a damn care. It’s a little funny and cute. Don’t say that to his face. I’m gonna make an educated guess and say he definitely needs to bust it at least once a day. He gets even worse after meeting you, often disappearing into the bathroom, but who needs it for 20 minutes on average? I don’t know what’s worse, Ace bragging and losing the 1st day. Or Epel hyping himself up, only for you to mention how hot he is.
He’s already leaking. He sits on the toilet seat of your bathroom, rubbing his nose against your damp shower towel, squeezing his eyes shut, pumping his dick desperately. You name tumbles from his lips, muffled and desperate. He compares succeeding NNN to being a stronger man, and most definitely falls the 1st hour of making his bet. Will ask Jack hypotheticals, and he’s just like, ‘I don’t know, man’. Similar to Deuce, he will jump around the topic, or suddenly switch up. Saying NNN is dumb. Like bffr.
“No Nut November iz dumb! No, I didn’ fail, ya jerk”
♡ SEBEK ZIGVOLT ♡
ONLY WINNER
Now, I know what you are thinking. Ain’t no way. Sebek is loud and most likely has announced his displeasures with NNN. It’s childish. Uncouth. For the dumb and ignorant. Wait—you think it’s funny and cool? He guesses he can try, and will publicly and I mean publicly announce his plans to win. And he will. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his challenges. Sebek is a knight in training and has amazing self-control. And last half the month without trouble, the other half, he’s just missing. You see him in all his classes, but he’s avoiding you like the plagues.
He is giving his all to winning. The moment December 1st strikes, he’s acting a damn fool. Fucking his hand, bed, blankets, anything and everything, cause cumming once just isn’t enough. He’s gonna casually NOT, will do a fucking public service announcement about his winnings. Gods, he’s embarrassing. Will not shut up. Please say you’re proud of him.
“Of course I won. As Lord Malleus Knight—”
ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.
#t.manor.erotic.stories#twisted wonderland smut#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#ace trappola#deuce spade#jack howl#epel felmier#sebek zigvolt#ace trappola smut#deuce spade smut#jack howl smut#epel felmier smut#sebek zigvolt smut
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Get Your Shit Together - Chapter 5
genre: 2024 Season AU
pairing: Romantic! oc x someone ;) . platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.
warnings: lots swearing, mentions of the accident, stitches, alcohol. mentions of crimes.
context: Dude, if you don't know the context, go read the other parts. Here's the masterlist.
----$----
Five Months Later...
"Are you sure, mate?" Max Fewtrell asked as they stepped into the restaurant.
"Danny said it was the best bet," Lando assured him, shrugging.
"Danny isn't from Melbourne, he's from Perth," Max noted.
"Let's just have dinner, bro. We'll be fine even if we are recognised."
It didn't take long for them to be seated and, as soon as Max realised they weren't going to be waited upon, ordered their meals at the register.
"That's new," Lando commented when they returned to their seats.
"It's a small place," Max replied, observing everyone around them. "The locals seem pretty used to it."
Lando shrugged again and began to talk about upcoming Quadrant content. They had proposed a race with Daniel and Oscar around Melbourne, now that it was the off-season.
"Daniel seemed pretty keen, Oscar -" Lando trailed off.
His mind had gone blank, everything stopped by the memory gripping him.
Her voice.
"Thanks, Damon. Let me know if you need it back," she said to a coworker.
Lando's head snapped up, looking across a staircase to the opposite bar area. There she was, pouring a beer, dark brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and eye crinkled from her smile. She said something to the customer, some old crusty white man and laughed at whatever his response was.
Lando couldn't hear anything Max was saying, couldn't feel him nudge his shoulder.
"It's her," he whispered.
"Love at first sight isn't a thing, Lando," Max joked as he turned around.
"No, dumbass. I- I think it's Sadie." Lando shoved his shoulder.
Max turned back to him, dumbfounded. He had never met Sadie but knew exactly who she was. Throughout his recovery, Lando hadn't shut up about her and what she'd done for him. He'd tried to find her, but two weeks after the accident, she left the UK and no one had been able to find her since.
Lewis had even tried to find her, and was unsuccessful.
"Are you sure, mate? She had a helmet on."
"I just heard her talk. I saw her face at Albert Park. I think- I think it's her."
Her voice echoed in his head; I've got you now.
Keep going, pretty boy.
You're going to be okay.
In the blur of the accident and his trip to hospital, she was what he remembered. Her voice, her reassurance, her warm eyes.
"Mate, you're staring." Max waved a hand in front of Lando's eyes.
"I- Max, I think it's her." Lando repeated.
Their food came, a chicken carbonara from Lando and fish and chips for Max.
"Can I get you anything else?"
Max kicked Lando under the table as he said, "no, thank you," with a smile.
Lando dragged his eyes away from the woman across the room. "Thanks," he muttered.
The older woman smiled, politely said "have a lovely night," and left.
Lando tucked into his food and tried to listen to Max. He couldn't stop glancing, trying to work out if it was Sadie. He needed a closer look at her eyes, her reassuring eyes.
Those deep brown eyes that had said we are okay while she had a piece of his car in her leg.
"Hi there, how's the food?" a server asked. He was tall, and standing between the bar area and their table. His green eyes were watching Lando carefully.
"Great," Max said. "Thank you."
"Actually," Lando said, ignoring another kick from Max. "The barteneder over there, what's her name?"
"Uhh, that is Sadie." The sever said, looking over his shoulder.
Max and Lando shared a look and Lando's hand began to shake. He couldn't place whether it was nerves or anticipation.
"Thank you," Lando murmured, his eyes not leaving Max's face.
The server walked away with a tense smile.
"You sound creepy, you know that right?" Max groaned.
"It's her!" he whisper-yelled.
"You don't know that for sure. Finish your food."
Lando rolled his eyes and stabbed a chip with his fork.
----$----
“Sads.” Damon, tapped her shoulder. “I don’t want to scare you but there’s a guy at a bistro table asking about you. Molly said he’s been looking at you all night.”
Sadie groaned. “Ugh, men. What table?”
“Four.”
She stepped to the side, into and where she could view of table four, and froze.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” She whispered, as if he’d hear her.
Damon pulled her back out of sight. “You know him?”
Shit, she scolded herself. Get yourself out of this one, Sadie.
Sadie hadn’t told anyone from work the real way she had been injured, just that she had been in an accident that weekend.
“Remember how I had to take an extra three weeks off that mid-year annual leave?” she whispered to Damon.
“Yeah, car accident right?”
“Well-“ she drew the word out. “I wasn’t actually in a car. I was hit while trying to get him off the, uh, road.”
Road, not racetrack. Road.
Sadie couldn’t risk Damon figuring out that it had been her in that viral video. The less people that knew, the less people who could tell the media circus where to find her. The less danger she'd be in.
“What?” Damon’s face was scrunched in a frown.
“Ah, it’s hard to explain.” She waved off any further questions. “Can you watch the bar for me? I’m gonna go say hi.”
Damon nodded as Sadie stepped past him, more confidence in her stride than in her heart.
She managed to avoid Lando Norris and his gaze on her way to the kitchen. She thanked Molly, the supervisor, the noticing his behaviour and keeping an eye on him.
That was when she decided to surprise him.
Max Fewtrell, who had sat across from Lando, saw Sadie first.
She shook her head. Let me surprise him, she tried to say.
Max, understanding in his eyes, ignored her.
Lando wore no moonboot or ankle brace. Sadie wondered if the fracture reports were true.
"I see the ankle healed nicely," she quipped. "What about the concussion?"
He spun, almost falling out of his chair, and leapt to his feet. Lando wrapped his arms around Sadie with no hesitation. She was glad the tables nearby were empty.
"Oh shit," he murmured into her ear. "It is you. I was right, it's you."
He'd trapped Sadie's arms by her sides and Max laughed at her awkward attempt to hug Lando back.
He pulled back, but kept his hands on her shoulders, as if she'd vanish if he let go.
Fair enough, she mused silently. I disappeared once, what's to say I won't do it again.
"Mate, what are you doing here?" She asked seriously.
He gestured to the table. "Having dinner, I didn't know you worked here."
"Jesus, of all the coincidences to happen," Sadie muttered under her breath then said a little louder. "I have to get back to work, it was great to see you, mate. I'm glad you've recovered."
"You're tense, why are you tense?" Max observed.
"I want to talk, I want to thank-"
Sadie cut him off. "Not here. My managers don't know exactly how I was injured. No one here does and I'd like to keep it that way."
"No," Lando insisted. "No, you are not disappearing again."
Sadie stopped for a moment, paused to let herself breathe.
"How about this-"
"Last time you said that, we both ended up in hospital," Lando joked with a wide smile.
Sadie returned the humour with a small laugh. She ignored the feeling clutching at her stomach.
"How about this, did you uber or taxi here?
Max nodded as Lando frowned.
"Okay, good. How about I drive you back to where ever it is you're staying and we can talk on the way?"
"And after that?"
Sadie sighed and gave Lando a sad smile. "There can't be an after, mate." She was careful not to use his name, just in case. "It's a long story."
"Will you tell me?" His voice dropped to a volume she didn't know he could use. His head tipped down, eyes boring into hers with too many emotions for Sadie to guess his thoughts.
The sad smile didn't leave her face. "As much as I can, but that isn't a lot. Give me half an hour. It's a quiet night, I'll ask to finish early."
Max reached out and tugged on the back of Lando's shirt.
Let her go, the gesture said. Lando did, releasing her shoulders and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
"Okay," he decided, "okay."
Sadie glanced to Max. Thank you, her eyes said.
He smiled gently but Sadie could see the concern in his posture and knew it wasn't concern for her. It was about her.
----$----
Twenty-five minutes later, Sadie grabbed her car keys and pulled her name tag off.
"Thanks again, Katy. I owe you for this."
"No, you don't." the on-duty manager waved a hand. "I was going to let some one go home soon, anyway. Have a good night.
"You too, see you tomorrow!"
Lando, who had struggled to take his eyes off her, noted the conversation and rose.
Max rose with him and put a hand on his shoulder. His back to Sadie, she watched as he whispered something in Lando's ear. Lando nodded with a frown.
"Ready?"
"I'm never ready for anything involving you," Lando quipped.
Sadie couldn't help but snort.
They walked to Sadie's small blue Mitsubishi and she ignored the small glance the boys shared. Damn them and their money.
Lando jumped into the passenger seat before Max could say anything.
"Fuck you, dude," Max joked.
Lando only grinned as he put his seatbelt on.
Sadie didn't smile at their antics. She was too busy considering how to tell them the situation without revealing anything that would put them in danger.
“Here’s the deal.” There was no room for negotiation in her tone. “You can ask questions but I’m only going to tell you want I safely can.”
She glanced at Max in the rear view mirror. He was frowning with suspicion and wariness, which Sadie considered to be a good thing.
“That’s ominous,” Lando noted.
Sadie shrugged and pulled out of the car park. “You’re going to have to navigate as well. The Piastri Family home isn’t public knowledge.”
As Lando pulled out his phone and brought up Google maps, he asked, “why did you stay away?”
“You’re a public figure, so are you, Max. Your lives are full of cameras, videos, articles and media. I can’t be amongst all that.”
"Why not?"
"I'm in a witness protection program."
----$----
hehe, whoops. LORE
Hope you like it!
Taglist (never thought I'd write one of these, I'm very happy to):
@snubug
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Baby Steps Part 4
Larissa x pregnant!reader
Summary: The third trimester leaves many twists and turns
Warning: Small breakdown
Read Part 3 here
“Wow, throwing a baby shower really makes you realize how few friends you have,” you quipped as you sat on the couch creating a guest list. “Most of these people are our coworkers.”
Larissa, who sits beside you putting together the gift registry, chuckled. “I feel like we said the same thing for our wedding.”
“Probably,” you giggle. “We’re both very antisocial people.”
“So, is it a gender reveal?”
That was the third time you had gotten that question since you sent out the invites.
“No,” you explained politely, pausing the grading on the final exams. “It’s just a baby shower. Gender reveals are so tacky to me, so Larissa and I agreed to find out the sex when it’s born. I mean, it’s already the beginning of June, so there’s only a couple months left.”
“You know, I saw this really cool gadget on TikTok! You should add it to your registry! Or maybe I’ll just buy it for you anyway.”
“Oh, I appreciate it, but, really, it’s okay. We’ve only put necessities on our registry.”
“No, seriously, this is a need. I’ll send you the link.”
And, once again, someone was insisting on getting you something you didn’t need. On the gift registry you sent out, you had put in asterisks a message, specifically saying to not get anything that isn’t on the registry unless otherwise stated. Necessities were for now, fancy gadgets could be saved for later.
When your coworker left your classroom, you reclined in your chair, letting out a deep breath and placing your hand on your bump. “Boy or girl, this is going to be a long eighteen years.”
“Talking to them again?”
The sudden voice made you jump in your seat before you saw Larissa in the doorway.
“I saw Grace coming out of your classroom,” she said, leaning down to give you a kiss. “Was she insisting on getting us that crazy baby gadget?”
“How’d you know?”
“She cornered me in the teachers’ lounge earlier. All I wanted was a cup of coffee, but instead I received parenting advice from someone who has no children and gets all their information from parenting accounts on social media.” Larissa pulled a seat up to your desk and sat beside you. “How’re you feeling?”
You bent over to rest your head on her lap, groaning when you felt her fingers dig into your back and begin to massage the knots out. “My back is killing me, I’m exhausted, I have to pee all the time, my tits hurt when I touch them the slightest bit, and I’ve had to refrain from snapping at multiple students because of how easily I’ve been getting irritated.”
Larissa’s hand came to your face, fingers smoothing out a strand of hair and pushing it behind your ear. She smiled softly, “You’ve always been one to minimize things, darling, so that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“I’m fine, Larissa,” you huffed.
Larissa pursed her lips. “Mhm…sure…”
Her response was like a tsunami came crashing down on you and you stood up. Your lip began quivering, yet you had all the rage of a thousand angry men. “Well, how would you feel if you were creating a human being out of nothing, Larissa!?” Tears started pouring down your cheeks as Larissa sat there awkwardly, watching your outburst, saying nothing as you slammed the door to your classroom.
“I’m in a terrible mood all the time! The slightest thing irritates me, but I don’t wanna make a big deal out of it because then I’ll be known as the overdramatic pregnant woman! Teachers have been pestering me about my birth plan! Like, why does it fucking matter how I’m giving birth!? That is between me, you, and the midwife! Not some random fucking math teacher on a Tuesday morning! Wednesday Addams keeps telling me all these weird and creepy facts about pregnancy and newborns! I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know that some babies lactate! And all I wanna do at the end of a long day is have sex with my wife, but my stomach is the size of a fucking cantelope and every position is uncomfortable!”
You took a steadying breath, wiping away your tears–and smudging your eyeliner and mascara. Reaching over your desk, you grabbed a tissue. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I’m just…I needed to get that out…I’m sorry…”
When you sat down, Larissa pulled you into her arms, her hands rubbing up and down your back. “Shhh…You don’t need to apologize, love. You’re doing so much–too much. You’re getting overwhelmed. This is why I told you to go on leave. You’re letting your blood pressure get too high and you’ve been very insistent on not having a c-section.”
You pulled away from her and wiped the underneath of your eyes again. “I know, but there’s only a few days left of school. I really didn’t need to take any leave.”
“You’ve always been one to work yourself to the bone.” Larissa leaned down and retrieved your purse from under your desk. Unzipping it, she pulled out your makeup bag and handed it to you. “Lunch is almost over, let’s get you cleaned up a bit.”
The Nevermore graduation ceremony felt like hours. Being the head of the English department, you stood in a line with the other heads on the stage of the auditorium, shaking each student’s hand before they retrieved their diploma from Larissa. You were particularly proud to be shaking Wednesday Addams’ hand after seeing her rocky start a few years prior. But by the time the final student walked across the stage in their black and purple cap and gown (even Wednesday complied and wore a purple gown), you were dead weight on your feet.
The ceremony was moved to the Quad where refreshments were served and students could gather once more before moving out of their dorms. Maybe it was the fact that you were seven months pregnant, but the heat was almost unbearable. You had no idea how Larissa wore those dresses all the time because the simple breezy maxi dress you were wearing made you feel like you were doused in your own sweat.
Your attention was turned behind you after speaking with a parent and you laid eyes on Wednesday and Enid. “Oh, thank you, Miss Addams…” A gift was handed to you, wrapped in blue and pink baby shower wrapping paper.
Enid, who stood beside her, bounced up and down on the balls of her feet with a bright smile. “The wrapping paper was my idea! It’s for the baby!”
“I would’ve gone with a different color palette,” Wednesday commented. “I can feel the skin on my hands burning off after touching that.”
“Black and white or blue and pink, it doesn’t matter to me,” you smiled. “Thank you, girls.”
“I saw it on TikTok and knew it was perf for you!” Enid squealed. “It’s this really cool–”
“Enid!” Wednesday hissed. “Don’t give it away.”
You giggled to yourself as you watched the two of them walking away, hand-in-hand as they muttered to each other.
“What’s this?”
Larissa’s voice startled you and you turned around. “Just a gift from Enid and Wednesday. I have a feeling we’re going to have two of those gadgets that Grace mentioned.”
And you were right. Weeks later, the baby shower went off without a hitch. Despite it being now late July and you being the size of a watermelon, you had never felt happier. You were practically on the verge of tears thinking about the entire situation.
Here you were, sitting beside your wife surrounded by your closest family and friends, opening gifts for the baby that would be in your arms in just over a month. You truly couldn’t ask for more.
In August your parents decided to visit, assisting you and Larissa with anything you needed help with. Your father took your car to the shop to get its oil changed along with everything else you had forgotten about–you really weren’t liking this pregnancy brain. Now you sat in the designated nursery, once Larissa's home office, huffing and puffing in a cushioned rocking chair.
“Okay,” Larissa mumbled, “it looks like we put parts A and B together using wrench three–Mia have you seen that wrench?”
“Nope.”
“You know, we could hire someone to do it,” you sighed, watching Larissa, your father, and your sister attempt to put together the crib for the nursery. “I mean, the girl at Ikea said they have people f–”
You were cut off by Larissa kissing you on your lips, looming tall over you. “Darling, it’ll be fine. We can do this. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty. Can you do that?”
“I can do that better than anyone,” you scoffed.
Larissa smiled and leaned in for another kiss. “That’s my girl.”
You were now a week over your due-date and you were miserable. You back ached, your breasts were painful to the touch, and the only thing you wanted now was to get this baby out of you.
“Are you alright, love?”
Larissa’s hand came to your back as your breath stopped. You clutched the edge of the table in your hand tightly as a wave of dull pain started slowly.
You didn’t want it to start here. You were in public, at a sports bar in Burlington with your family and Larissa’s when the pains started.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The waitress, who was standing by your mother taking her drink order, paused and looked at you with the rest of the family. “Are you sure, sweetheart? The hospital is just down the road.”
“I’m fine, really,” you insisted.
Larissa side-eyed you carefully. “I’m starting a stopwatch.”
“You don’t nee–”
“I’m starting a stopwatch,” she repeated, giving you the same look she gave troubled and disobedient students. “You're not having our baby in the car.”
You scoffed. “I’m not having the baby in our car, Larissa. Don’t be ridiculous.”
The rest of the evening continued, Larissa tracking your contractions against your will while everyone took their time looking over the menu and savoring their drinks. When the waitress came back half an hour later with the appetizers, a second, more painful contraction ripped through you.
“That was thirty seconds,” Larissa said. “Once they get to a minute long, I think we should go.”
“Larissa, I’m fine!” you groaned. “I’m sure they’re just Braxton Hicks.”
Putting a serving of nachos on your plate and hers, she shook her head. “You’re a week overdue, darling. I don’t think these are Braxton Hicks.”
You tried to ignore it, but Christ, you had to admit these were painful. You didn’t want to tell Larissa she was right, but a half hour intermission turned into a fifteen minute one, and a fifteen minute one turned into a ten minute one.
“They’re ten minutes apart,” Larissa muttered to you. “The last one lasted forty-five seconds.”
You smiled and thanked the waitress when she handed you your dinner, taking a small bite and answering Larissa. “Just drop it. We’ll go when my water breaks.”
“You watched the YouTube video,” Larissa said. “Sometimes the water doesn’t break.”
“We–” Your fork clattered onto your plate and the entire table looked at you as Larissa started the stopwatch. Through deep breaths you asked, “How long ago was–?”
“Seven minutes,” Larissa answered, placing her hand on your lower back once again and looking up at the waitress. “Darling, can we get two boxes, please? Thank you.”
“Take me to UVM,” you said. “Don’t take me to Jericho General. I have not heard good things about their maternity ward.”
“Sweet pea–”
“I said, take me to UVM!” you snapped.
Larissa, after retrieving her purse from under the table, took her keys out and took one of them off the ring. She handed it to your mother saying, “Here’s the house key. After dinner would you be able to get the hospital bag and bring it to us?”
With a peck on Larissa’s cheek and yours, your mother took the key. “Of course. Now go. We’ll let you know when we’re on our way.”
Tag list: @gwenistheloml @barbarasstar @gwendolinechristierulez @furrysharkfart @yourgaeyisshowing
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Those Eyes!
(Joseph Quinn x Female Reader)
Summary: You meet Joe in a bar and the end of the night doesn’t go exactly as expected!
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: Real person fic, so if you don’t like RPF please keep scrolling! NSFW, vaginal fingering, dirty talk. Tiny bit of angst if you squint!
Notes: My first RPF, so please be gentle!
———————————————————————
“This is so needed, what a shitty week,” you sighed as you dropped the empty shot glass on to the table with a thump, your throat burning. You weren’t sure how a week had felt about a month long, but it just seemed to have been one thing after another recently, and this night out with your friends was long overdue!
After a few pre-drinks whilst getting ready, we’d made our way in to central London and had stumbled in to the first lively looking bar we’d come across when we stepped out of the underground station. The bar was packed, the music pounding as bodies moved in tandem on the dance floor, the usual line of creepy guys crowded around the edges searching out the drunkest girls.
“I’m just going to the bathroom and then I’m gonna go out for a cigarette,” you told your friends as you rose from your seat, your friends nodding before carrying on with their conversation.
You were feeling distracted tonight, the usually easily-flowing conversation feeling forced as you struggled to join in. You had nights like these, and would usually be better cuddled up under your blanket watching a movie, but you’d forced yourself out tonight, hoping that a drink and some music would bring you out of your slump.
After using the bathroom, you paused at the mirror on the wall, running your fingers underneath your eyes, checking your make-up was still where it should be and checking yourself over. You’d bought a new dress for tonight, a figure-hugging dress, deep brown in colour and falling just above your knees. Smoothing over the soft chiffon, you took a deep breath, flicking your hair back over your shoulder as you turned and made your way out to the beer garden.
Even that was busy, despite the chill in the spring air. Finding an empty spot and leaning back against the cold stone wall, you pulled your phone from your bag and lit a cigarette, taking a long, deep drag as you unlocked her phone, scrolling through your social media feed.
“Excuse me, could I borrow that?” You turned to look at the stranger standing beside you, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with his.
You were sure you recognised him, but just couldn’t figure out where from. He was tall, dressed in loose light blue jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned and sitting loosely over a plain white t-shirt, his hair covered by a baseball cap. But the cap couldn’t cover those eyes.
Fuck, those eyes!
You must have stared for a split second too long, as his deep voice pulled you out of her haze. “No matter how many I buy, I always seem to lose them,” he laughed.
“Sorry! Yeah, sure,” you stuttered, holding your hand out to him, your heart skipping a beat as his fingertips brushed yours and he smiled down at you.
“Thank you love,” he sighed softly before lighting his cigarette, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke as he handed the lighter back. “I’m Joe, it’s nice to meet you,” he smiled. You nodded, your stomach flipping as the gears in your head finally clicked.
“Joe Quinn, right? I knew you looked familiar,” you grinned. He chuckled as he took another drag of his cigarette. “You know, the cap isn’t a very good disguise if you don’t want people to recognise you,” you laughed as he took another drag of his cigarette, shaking his head in amusement as he removed his cap, pushing it hard into his pocket and running his hand through his dark, messy curls.
“You’re not the first to tell me that,” he chuckled. “I should try harder. What’s your name?”
“Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you Y/N,” he said quietly, his deep brown eyes sparkling brightly despite the low lighting outside.
“Nice to meet you too Joe.”
———————————
Once again, you found yourself checking your reflection in the mirror of the bar bathroom.
It was getting late now, and the number of shots you’d drunk had certainly gone to your head, as well as your bladder!
After sharing a cigarette with Joe, you’d gone back to your friends, and had eventually waved Joe and his friends over to join you all. Your friends didn’t have any idea who Joe was, they weren’t exactly Stranger Things fans, so apart from his own friends teasing, Joe had got away without too much attention.
You were surprised at how ‘normal’ he was. Sure, he spoke with a posh boy accent and name-dropped his co-stars more than once, but he seemed to be just a usual south London boy. Funny, confident (maybe bordering on cocky), charming. Flirty, you smiled to yourself as you locked eyes with yourself in the mirror.
You’d had butterflies fluttering in your stomach most of the night, your heart stuttering every time his soft eyes met yours. Were you imagining the spark between the two of you? Probably, you thought, but hell, you were going to make the most of the time you were able to spend with him, whether the flirting was real or just in your head.
You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing the flyaways and straightening your parting before making your way back toward the bar.
As you moved through the crowd, the smell of sweat and alcohol finally beginning to overwhelm your senses, you noticed that the table where your friends had been was now sat empty, the drained glasses littering the surface.
You looked around, confused, jumping with a start as a hand wrapped gently around your arm.
“Where did everyone go?” You asked.
“Y/F/N was hungry so Wes has taken them to the kebab shop around the corner,” Joe explained. “I said I’d walk you around,” he smiled.
“Such a gentleman,” you teased as he reached out, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the bar.
You hadn’t realised how cold it had got and wrapped your free arm around yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the biting wind.
“You ok?” You nodded, smiling up at him. He let go of your hand and slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him. “Better?” You nodded again, giggling to yourself. “What’s funny?”
“The fact that I have superstar Joseph Quinn’s arm around me,” you laughed dramatically. “Wasn’t how I was expecting to end the night.”
As you walked together along the busy street, you started to notice people staring as you passed, girls whispering excitedly to their friends, some shouting at him from across the street. He glanced across at them smiling reluctantly.
“You sure you wanna be seen with your arm around a random stranger?”
“To be honest, even without my arm around you, that’ll still happen, so I might as well roll with it,” he said quietly. You gazed up at him, his face now clouded with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Sadness?
“That must get annoying.” He nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “I saw your award speech. Do they really scare you?”
“No,” he sighed. “It’s all just been a bit overwhelming. There are some who are, um, a bit over the top,” he chuckled. “But the vast majority of my fans are amazing. Let’s face it, without them, I wouldn’t be where I am. I’m going to be in a Ridley Scott film for gods sake,” he laughed loudly. “It would just be nice to have some peace sometimes, that’s all.”
Suddenly the heel of your shoe hit a stone and you stumbled dramatically. Joe’s arm slipped from your shoulders but he quickly grabbed your arm and steadied you, pulling you tight against him as he gazed down at you, taking his lip between his teeth as if trying to silence himself. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop. His eyes wandered your face, his thumb gently stroking the skin of your wrist. “You think you should have worn flatter shoes?” He smirked. A loud laugh escaped from your mouth.
“Oh no, absolutely not hun. You do not get to take the piss out of my shoes when you’re wearing THOSE,” you giggled, motioning to his feet with your free hand. He dropped your arm, grabbing dramatically at his chest.
“Oh sweetheart, you wound me,” he gasped in mock offence. “What’s wrong with my shoes?!”
“Absolutely nothing grandpa,” you laughed. Joe stopped, his mouth falling open in shock. “Come on, we better catch up with the others,” you grinned as you began to walk away from him.
You squealed loudly as you felt fingers wrap themselves tightly around your arm, pulling you down a dark alleyway between two buildings.
“What are you doing?” You laughed as you followed him, struggling to keep up on your heels.
“Just trust me,” he said over his shoulder.
Eventually the alleyway opened up into a small courtyard with what looked to be the back doors to the shops on the main street.
Before you knew what was happening, Joe’s hands were around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walked you backwards, the back of your legs hitting a low wall.
“I’ve been waiting all night to get my hands on you,” he whispered, his voice deeper, darker than a moment before. His tongue flicked across his lips, moistening them as his eyes roamed your face, settling momentarily on your lips before locking eyes with you once more. “Is this ok?” He asked.
Your heart was racing, pounding so hard in your chest that you were sure he must be able to hear it. Looping your fingers into his belt loops and pulling him even tighter to you, you nodded silently, not trusting yourself to speak.
He smiled, lifting you off your feet and sitting you on the wall. Using his knee to push your legs apart, he settled between your thighs, his hands now in your hair. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He breathed, lowering his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes falling closed as the tip of his nose brushed gently against yours.
“Joe?” You said softly. He opened his eyes slowly, his pupils so blown that the chocolate shades were now pitch black. “Just shut up,” you whispered with a sigh, leaning forward to finally capture his lips with your own.
His hands tightened in your hair, a soft moan falling from your lips as he pulled gently, angling your head up towards him as his tongue swiped gently against your lips, begging for entrance, which you gladly granted.
Your head was spinning, but not from the alcohol. From him. From the taste of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue, the smell of the cologne he wore, the softness of his fingertips as they ghosted across your neck.
Your lips chased his with a quiet whimper as he broke the kiss, chuckling as he lowered his lips to your neck, leaving desperate open-mouthed kisses as you wrapped your legs around his thighs, gasping aloud as he rolled his hips against you. You pushed back against him, a shock running through your body as you felt his hard cock against your heat.
His hands were on your thighs now, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone, the feeling of his teeth gently dragging across your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands reached the hem of your dress and he paused, lifting his head to look at you.
“Still ok?” He whispered breathlessly, and you nodded eagerly.
“More than ok,” you gasped. “Joe, please…”
“Shh, it’s ok love,” he assured you. “I’ve got you.”
His lips met yours again, more intensely this time, his tongue licking in to your mouth. His hands moved swiftly upwards until they met the seam of your panties, and your lips faltered for a moment as he pushed them aside, his fingers moving against your heat.
“So wet for me already,” he smirked as his fingers found your clit, drawing a loud moan from deep within your chest, your back arching, pushing your body hard against him. “You like that, huh?” He said, his lips so close to yours that you could feel his breath.
You nodded desperately, your hands gripping tightly to his strong arms, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your touch as his fingers began to rub small circles against your most sensitive spot. Your body betrayed your attempts to stay quiet as a pathetic whimper slipped from your lips. “Uh uh, don’t go quiet on me now love, let me hear you.”
Joe’s hand stilled, his hips shifting as he moved himself, his thumb now pressed against your clit as two of his fingers teased tantalisingly at your entrance. “Tell me what you need,” he breathed.
“You,” you gasped as his fingers gently eased just slightly inside of you. “Please,” you begged again, your body squirming beneath his touch.
He lifted his head, watching your face as he pushed his fingers further into you, a cocky smirk spreading across his lips as your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open as you gasped for air. His thumb began to rub small circles against your clit, his fingers curling inside you, almost instantly finding the spot that made your body tighten around him.
Your head fell forward, resting against his shoulder as your hands slipped under his shirt, your fingernails scratching hard against his stomach as they made their way downwards. Your fingers closed around his jeans button, but his free hand grabbed yours roughly, pushing it behind your back, your fingers laced with his. “Uh uh,” he shook his head.
“I wanna feel you,” you sighed.
You realised how pathetic you must sound, but you just couldn’t find it within yourself to care.
“And you will,” he promised. “But not yet,” he added with a smirk as he lowered his lips back to your neck, his tongue flicking gently at the soft spot just below your ear. “Fuck, you feel so good baby,” he groaned, his fingers curling just right inside you again, a strangled moan slipping from your lips again as your free hand grabbed hard at his wrist between your legs, silently pleading him not to stop as the tension inside you intensified.
“Are you close?” He whispered, his lips ghosting against your skin as you nodded desperately. “Come on baby, let go for me.”
As if your body had been waiting for his permission, your orgasm ripped through you, your vision turning white, every nerve in your body firing at once, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. “That’s it,” he mumbled, letting go of the hand he had held behind your back, grabbing hard at your hair again, kissing you hard as his fingers worked you through your peak. As the waves of ecstacy subsided, your kiss grew softer, gentler, and he pulled his hand from under your dress, slipping it around your waist and holding you tightly. “You good?” He asked quietly, lifting his head to gaze down at you.
“Hmm,” you nodded, your tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you tightened your legs around him, a guttural growl rumbling in his chest as your hand ran down his body, palming at his hard cock through his jeans.
“Have you got anywhere you need to be?” He asked.
“No, why?” You asked with a cheeky smile.
“You’re coming home with me,” he said firmly as he pulled you to your feet. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”
————————————————————————
Part two?
#joseph quinn#joe quinn#joseph quinn is the loml#joseph quinn rpf#joseph quinn x fem!reader#joseph quinn fanfiction#joseph quinn fanfic#joseph quinn smut
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cinnamon girl . ݁ ₊ ( 희승 + reader ) genre angst high school au crush au wc 681 warnings mention of stalking and some self deprecating thoughts.
there’s things i wanna say to you, but i’ll just let you live ౨ৎ
you’ll never forget the first time you noticed heeseung.
it was the first day of you’re eleventh year of school and you were already over it before it even started, that was until you walked into your first period class and there he was in all his glory.
you could’ve sworn that you’ve never seen someone so beautiful, how could you have possibly never noticed him? oh, and then he laughed at one of his friends jokes and you saw his smile, that contagious smile that you would be thinking about for the next year and a half.
after that, you became sort of infatuated by him. but now, a year and a half later, still nothing has happened and it was almost the end of high school and you still had barely said a word to the man.
“you need to talk to him.” said you’re best friend, yoo jimin, as you both walked laps around your schools track during your gym class.
“i did!” you deflect, jimin gives you that one look that she does when you know she knows you’re not telling the full truth. “… once.”
that one time you talked to heeseung was on the last day of school last year, about five months since you first started to like him, when you asked him to sign your yearbook, and he did.
jimin rolled her eyes and linked her arm into yours. “and why haven’t you talked to him since?”
“i’m just scared, he probably thinks i’m some creepy stalker who wants to do weird shit to him.” you sigh.
“well…” jimin laughs. you give her a offended look and then lightly push her away from you, laughing aswell.
later after class, you cross paths with heeseung. you look at him when he walks past but he doesn’t spare you any look, but when you look behind you, he’s staring right at you. woah. he doesn’t give you any time to savor the moment though; he looks away, locking eyes with you for only a second.
that night when you’re laying in bed, you think about the interaction ( if it’s even enough to call it that ). school ends in a couple weeks, you’re running out of time. you find yourself stressing out about this so take a deep breath, but that doesn’t really help. before you know it you’re letting tears stream down your face.
why can’t i just talk to him? you think to yourself. am i really this pathetic? you hated that a boy is making you feel this way. in the end you decided to try to sleep these feelings off.
the last week of school came quick. it felt weird, knowing that you would probably never have to step foot in this building again after this week.
you stumbled into your math class. being the stereotypical senior you were, you had bags under your eyes and a borderline hunchback from you’re heavy bag you’ve been carrying for the last four years. you plopped into your seat in the back of the class, that was coincidentally, behind heeseung’s seat.
at all of the seats there was a white board and a dry erase marker, even the ones that were unoccupied due to students skipping, i guess your teacher had more hope than some with their students coming to class.
the teacher asked you to write down different problems on the whiteboards, which you were about to do until your marker slipped between your fingers and rolled onto the floor, under heeseung’s chair. shit.
you have to say something! “um-” you stuttered out. “heeseung,” he looks back at you, your heart is pounding. “can you grab the marker under your chair, i dropped it.” he smiles and nods, you have a mini heart attack from that alone and then another one when he hands you your marker, his hand brushes against yours and you can’t help but smile. “thanks.” you mutter.
“of course y/n.” he smiles, turning back around and continuing with his math. you nod back. wait. lee heeseung knows my name?
#friutopia 𐔌 heeseung ˚ ˖#enha#enhypen#heeseung#lee heeseung#enha heeseung#enha fluff#enha angst#enha imagines#enha drabbles#enha x reader#enha scenarios#enha reactions
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Remus Lupin - Off My Limit
Pairing : (F/M) || Remus Lupin x Reader
Word Count : 4.2k
Warning : Drinking. Harsh language. Angst.
Notes : Break ups were never easy, but breaking up with someone you can hardly call your lover is even worse.
She’s waiting impatiently, occasionally biting her finger nail as she waits for the cocky Gryffindor boy to return to his dorm. Being a student of the other house, she has no other option but to sit on the staircase, foot shaking in nervousness. They’ve been friends since they were still in nursery, surely he’d understand her reasoning. Because to put it simply, she’s already at the end of her tether.
Every trick in the book has been carried over the years and none has given a satisfactory outcome. The most complacency returned was years ago, when she finally gathered the courage to ask for a seat at his table in the library. He was always there, nose buried deep in between the leaves of some novels or whatever book he finds amusing. How he always furrows his brows whenever he’s being drowned into the other world has somehow become her personal gravity. She loves watching him read. The fact that he never seemed to realise how her eyes were always glued on him was a relief and a curse at the same time.
She wanted him to notice her, yet she doesn’t want to lose the chance of watching him up close like that.
“What are you doing here?” The awaited boy said as he stared at her, brows raising in suspicion “You’re not stalking on Moony, are you? Merlin, I know you like the boy but I didn’t think you’d be creepy about it!”
“I was waiting for you, arse hat!” She spat in annoyance, pulling the boy away from the Fat Lady so that other students could enter and they could have a more private conversation “I need your help, Potter.”
“Figures.” James said sarcastically with a rolling eyes “I’m not going to spike his juice with Amortentia, Doll, it’s illegal.”
“I’m not asking you to spike his drink!” She argues, teething even more at her friend’s taunting “Why are you always twice the annoyance whenever I want to talk to you about him?”
James sighs, “I’ve told you thousands of times, Doll. Remus is a complicated person, I can’t really help much with your love affair with him.”
She lets out a huff.
The warning her friend constantly waves at her has been a permanent resident of her mind for years. She knew how complicated Remus is, the years of effort on trying to get to know him has certainly made her notice. It was the sole reason as to why she tries to find the most delicate ways to approach him. If it were any other boy, she would confidently march in and utter her interest, but this is Remus John Lupin we’re talking about. The boy’s special and a special boy surely requires a special care.
“What, does that mean he doesn’t like me then?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” James says with a sigh, placing his hands on her shoulders in effort to make her understand better “Remus is just.. He has a lot of things to figure out and takes care of. As his best friend, I don’t think I’d appreciate the fact that someone is so persistent in being around him, even after years of him showing the slightest interest.”
She frowns.
“But as your best friend.. Doll, I just think that it’s time for you to drop your puppy love for him and find someone else, alright? You’re barking up the wrong tree. Romance is far out of Remus’ interest right now.”
“Well, couldn’t you share with me the problem he’s facing or whatever it is that’s holding him? Perhaps I could help.”
James shakes his head, “It’s not my place to share, Doll. Just please trust me when I say it’s not something you can sort within one or two months. It’s something he has to live with for the rest of his life.”
The frown on her face is now replaced with a disappointed look. She’s dying to know the burden Remus is carrying, promising in her heart that she would lift it off of his shoulders. But James was right, it wasn’t his secret to share. The only person who has the right to talk about it is Remus and seeing their very limited extent of friendship, it’s clear to see that the secret would forever be buried for her.
But is this it? Should she finally give up on her crush for him? She knows that they’re not making much progress, but the slightest change of his affection meant the world for her. Like how he’s sending her more smiles on the hallways now and how his shoulders no longer tense whenever she sits next to him in the Great Hall. They’re trivial, sure, but knowing how private Remus is, she feels like these progress were giant leaps to future intimacy.
Romantic intimacy, she hoped.
“Hello, you two.” A voice greets from behind James “Fancy seeing you here, stranger. Coming to the lion’s den, how brave.”
She smiles at Sirius’ comments weakly. Behind him was the boy she’s been dying to see, hands buried deep in his pockets as he shoots her a gentle smile. Oh how she wished she could keep him in her pocket.
“I was just about to leave.” She says, now feeling anxious to be at an arm's length from Remus “I’ll see you boys around.”
She surely didn’t see it as she walked past the boys in a hurry, looking down to the staircase in an attempt to avoid his eyes, but Remus’ smile dropped the second she left. He finds it odd how she seems to be avoiding him. She would usually stick around, exchange a banter or two with Sirius before finally leaving with a cheerful wave and wide smile. This time it was different. The kind of difference that pulled one or two of your heart strings.
“That’s odd.” Sirius said, tilting his head to the side as he watched her go “What did you say to her to make her flee like that, Prongs?”
James shrugs, “Nothing, I promise.”
“What did she want with you?” Remus asked, brows furrowing in curiosity.
“Nothing, just some assignments for Potion class.” James lied, not wanting to twist the matter even worse “Don’t worry, Moony. There’s nothing going on between us, she’s all yours. There’s no need for you to be jealous.”
—-
Remus has never had many friends so when she started to pull away, her absence left a great void in his heart. It may also be caused by his burgeoning infatuation for her that’s gotten him stirring on his bed at night. Point is, he could sense that she’s been steering clear of him and he hates it.
He’s found himself scanning every face in the hallways whenever his class ends, hoping to find her in the sea of students. Reading in the library felt strange too, now that he’s sitting alone at their table. It was as if she’d vanished. A beautiful ghost that he once knew and never had a chance to hold.
The only time he could see her is during meals. She would always sit on her House table, back facing him as if she didn't want to see his face. It tortures him. Not knowing what it was that he did or didn’t do that pushed her away like this. Sure she’s been avoiding the Marauders all together, but it’s a lot more personal for Remus. She doesn’t wave at Sirius in the hallways whenever they bump into each other, or skip and fasten her pace to keep up with Peter at the Main Courtyard, and she certainly doesn’t secretly nudge and tickle James during breakfast.
Yes, Remus notices.
Every feeble affection she’d shown for him, he notices it all. He knows that the only reason she goes to the library is to see him. She hardly got any work done, not with her eyes fixed on him every time they have their study session. She might not know it, but the only reason Remus never dared to speak to her in the library is because he knows that when he averts his eyes and sees her face, even for just a millisecond, all of his fortress would crumble.
Long before James accidentally spilled her secret crush on one of their game nights, Remus had already known the brewing interest she’s got on him. It wasn’t hard for him to guess, seeing how she’s always hovering around like a bee on a fine spring day. At first Remus did find her presence to be upsetting, he’s not the best person to interact with the opposite gender, but her crafty ways to stick around eventually win him over and now he couldn’t function properly without smelling her perfume or feeling her head resting on his arm.
“Moony,” Peter calls, snapping Remus back to reality “You alright, mate?”
“Brilliant.” Remus nods, waving the book on his hand slightly “Just reading some novel, here.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Since when do you read books upturned?”
Noticing his upside down book, Remus hurriedly tossed the novel away. His cheeks turned red from embarrassment.
“Alright, gather round.” Sirius said, waving his wand to the door and locking it “We need to have a team meeting.”
Remus rolled his eyes, “You’re overreacting.”
“You don’t eat your meals, hardly ever go to the library anymore, and now you read books upturned. You’re certainly disturbed, my friend.”
Peter nods, “I have to agree with Pads. You’ve been zoning out more than usual and your usual is already a lot, Moony.”
“I’m fine, you lot are just dramatic.” Remus insisted, trying his best so that his friends would drop the topic “I’m just feeling tired. Full moon is coming, my body’s aching more than the other days.”
Sirius and Peter eye him suspiciously.
“It’s my fault, Moons.” James breaks his silence, staring at his friend with an apologetic look “I pushed her away, I’m sorry.”
Peter raised his brows, “Pushed who away?”
“What did you do, Prongs?” Sirius asked, his tone slightly raising.
“I just- I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t think she would draw back just like that!” James said in defence “That day you saw us talking by the Fat Lady, she was asking for a favour. She didn’t tell me what it was, but it was about you Moons.”
Remus’ face went pale, lips in a tight line as he anticipated his best friend to continue.
James sighs, looking defeated, “She was looking desperate. She’s been asking more about why you seem to never notice her effort and don’t return her affections. I told her that you’ve got something to figure out and it wasn’t my place to say, but she shouldn’t be waiting for you because it’s not something that would be resolved in the near future.”
The other boys remain silent.
“I just didn’t think that it was fair for you to keep on tugging on her thread like that, Moons. The girl’s been head over heels for you for years! Don’t you think she’s been waiting for long enough?” James asked, trying to convey his intentions carefully “You said it yourself, you’re not going to date her. It’s cruel of you to make her hope for something that wouldn’t happen. She’s my best friend too. As much as I care for you, I care for her, too.”
Remus nods, understanding his friend’s reasoning.
Every word uttered by James was true, it was cruel of him to let her drown in false hope. He loves her, there’s no denying of it, but they can’t be together. He couldn’t share his burden with her, not after all these years of kindness she’d poured for him. It would be egoistic of him to pull her into his sea of torment. If he really cares for her, then he should let her go.
“Moony-”
“Prongs’ right. I stalled too much time, I didn’t realise I was turning into the villain.” Remus said with a forced smile, nodding to himself “Well, it’s good to know that she’s moving on now. Thank you for telling her, so that I don’t have to, Prongs.”
James nods, still looking guilty and apologetic.
Remus stands up, taking his books and bag, “I, uh, I think I’ll head to the library now.”
“Moony-”
Flicking his wand to open the door, Remus didn’t let Sirius finish his sentence. He couldn’t face his friends right now. The storm raging in his head, lump forming on his throat, and knots on his chest were too much to bear. He doesn’t want to let his friends see him shattering into pieces. He needed some time to process this alone.
—-
Break ups were never easy, but breaking up with someone you can hardly call your lover is even worse. The emotions and memories were real, just that there wasn’t any label that could be revoked. The ache however is arguably more painful as you can’t really tell if the feelings were mutual or was everything just an imagination of one party.
Ever since their talk that night, Remus had tried his best to avoid her. He’s exchanged seats with Peter during meals so that he doesn’t have to see her back from their table. He’s also moved to the Astronomy Tower to read his books instead of the library because the memory was just too intense for him to bear. He’d tried moving tables or even sitting on the floor of the empty shelves, but they just don’t work. He would always have his eyes on the door, hoping that she would enter and find a seat next to him as she used to.
His efforts didn’t go unnoticed either. It breaks her even worse to know that he’s pulling away too, in a way confirming all the ugly scenarios in her head that he’s never seen her that way. It was just her and her fantasy only. The secret teasing, shy smiles and glances were nothing of meaning. Remus Lupin never reciprocated her feelings.
Luckily for them, their ‘break up’ happened near the Christmas break so they didn’t have to see each other for too long at school. The distance and space had slowly healed their wounds, feeling rather optimistic that when the school started, they could act civil and that the ache would no longer be as agonising as it was.
Such belief lasted until an invitation landed on each of their doorstep.
The Potters were throwing a Christmas party. Seeing how their families have been close since forever, there was no question that she had to attend it. Even if she fakes an illness or shaves her hair bald, her mother would still drag her out. Even though she wasn’t even sure if Remus would be attending, the possibility of his presence already made her cower in cold sweat. She wasn’t sure if she’s ready to see him again.
Days leading to the Christmas party have been nothing but racking. She’d sent James an owl, asking if Remus would be there but the annoying git never bothered to return her letter. It was as if he enjoys tormenting her, making her suffer in silence from all the emotions she hoards for his best friend.
Entering the Potter’s Mansion behind her parents, she scans for the familiar glasses boy, hoping he could show her where the booze is kept so she could get hammered by herself on the corner. She knew that some of her Hogwarts friends were invited but she wasn’t in the mood to socialise. She only wanted to have a temporary good time, even if she’s to be nagged to death by her mother the following morning. What matters is tonight, her heart doesn’t have to ache too much from the boy who’s far off her reach.
Boy, how wrong was she to have hoped for such fortune.
After looking for a few minutes, she’s finally spotted him. Standing alone by the champagne table, hands buried in his pockets as he always does. He was dressed well, long gone was his unkempt hair. One look of him and all of her efforts of moving on is poured down the drain.
Taking a deep breath, she finds her feet stepping closer to him. An unsure smile was decorating her face, the moment their eyes locked to each other, “Remus.”
“Love.”
The emotions she’s feeling were indescribable. Her chest was warm from his smile and the pet name, yet as fast as it came it was gone, replaced with disdain over the fact that he would never mean it as she wished he did. Once again falling into the never ending loop of loving Remus Lupin.
“Have you seen James?” She asks, trying to distract her mind from him “I’ve yet to see that git.”
“He was here a few minutes ago but then he said he had to greet the guests or something.”
She nods, not knowing what to respond.
Underneath his calm demeanour, Remus was wreaking havoc. The wind had helped him get a scent of her perfume once more. She was beautiful, the most beautiful he’d seen of her. Perhaps the fact that it’s been far too long since they’ve seen each other had all the effect on him. He was sure that he’d memorise every feature of her yet right here right now, he seemed to be once again in awe over her beauty.
As if the roles were switched, it was his turn to watch her intently. With the same love and admiration she’d always shown to him in the library, Remus couldn’t comprehend the luck he’s been graced to know someone as enchanting as her. If only he wasn’t doomed for life, he would’ve fought every battle there is to call her his.
“Remus,” She calls, pointing at a hidden bottle of whiskey under the table “Should we start a party elsewhere?”
He smiled, nodding in agreement.
Taking the bottle and hiding it under her coat, Remus follows her like a lost puppy. This is the first time he’s been to the Potter’s Mansion and seeing how easy it is for her to navigate around the rooms, Remus quite literally had no other option but to follow her suit. Not that he’s complaining, of course.
Closing the door of the study room, she then plops herself to the sofa. With ease she opens the bottle and chugs its content, looking as if she’s parched.
“Easy now, Love.” Remus says as he watches her with slight worry “One more gulp and you’ll dethrone Sirius from his chugging throne.”
She didn’t say a word, only handing him the bottle for him to take.
Remus, having a sense that she’s not in the mood to drink just to be tipsy, only drinks a couple gulp before placing the bottle to the table.
“The whiskey’s disgusting.” She commented as she took the bottle again “Did Potter go bankrupt or something? Couldn’t they serve better quality drinks?”
Remus chuckles, “You stole the bottle, Love. For all we know it might not actually James’.”
She shrugs, taking another gulp.
In no time she was a giggling mess. Her lipstick was smeared, hair all messy from her harsh movement. It is the first time Remus sees this side of her. She was always there at every party the boys had ever thrown, yet there hasn’t been a night where she’s completely lost it. She was always the type to drink just to increase the hype, never the irresponsible one. The sight of her state now is increasing his anxiety rapidly because he doesn’t know what to do nor how to take care of her.
Her body was heating up from the alcohol but she didn’t mind. So long as her brain doesn't lecture her about how charming Remus looks tonight or how much she wants to rest her hands on his shoulders and pull him close, she’s alright with it. Whatever it takes to stop her from falling to the same void again.
“Love, I think that’s enough drink for the night.” Remus says softly as he gently takes the bottle from her hand “Any more and you’ll be poisoned instead.”
“Why don’t you like me, Remus?” She asks, slurring. Her eyes were closed, thank Merlin for that, otherwise she would’ve seen the horror in his eyes.
Remus chuckles nervously, “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” She answers, this time sitting up to face him “Otherwise you wouldn’t have avoided me too.”
Remus blinks, unable to form a sentence. He was caught off guard. Perhaps that’s why she drinks tonight, to have enough fuel and ask the heart wrenching question herself.
“I like you, Doll.”
“No, you don’t.” She says firmly, frowning “I have tried every possible approach to get close to you but you never seem to be interested in me. Why is that? Am I not pretty enough?”
The sadness reflecting on her eyes was too much for him to bear. She might say it nonchalantly but he knows that she’s hurting and he hates it. He hates the fact that he’s the sole reason for her to be hurting. He hates the fact that he couldn’t comfort her from her heartbreak. He hates the fact that he couldn’t give her what she wants. He hates it.
“You’re like a sister to me.” Remus lied, biting his lower lip “I can’t like you like that.”
“Then don’t see me as a sister. See me as a woman.”
“You’re not my type, Love.”
“What’s your type like, Remus? I can be that person.” She says, still being so persistent as always “I can be whoever you like.”
Remus didn’t realise how white his knuckles had turned. His hands have curved into a ball as he tries to contain the truth that’s so fighting to burst out. He wanted to let her know the truth but he knows he’s not ready to have her fear him. He’s not built for such a response from her. And even if she accepts him as he is, then what? It’s not like he could offer her any future together. The only thing he could serve is pain and shame and it’s surely not something he wants to give to her.
“I can’t like you like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because I hate the fact that you’re always around.” Remus says, twisting the fact on what made him love her to something that he hates about “I hate that you’re everywhere. I can never seem to get away from your grip.”
She remains quiet, studying his expression.
“I hate that you’re always there, when I need space and time alone. You came and you never left.”
Tears were welling up her eyes. Remus knew that he’s hurting her but in his mind, it had to be done. She has to understand that they can’t be together. She’s just too precious for him to ruin. Someone so delicate and devine who deserves all the best the world could offer. She’s simply off of his limit.
She sobs, “You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not lying.” The cracks of her voice were breaking him from the inside but he had to continue “I hate your presence, I hate your smile, your laughter. Everything about you, I hate it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Merlin, what is it that you want from me, really?!” Remus yelled in frustration as he stood from his seat “You ask me why I don’t like you and I answered. Why can’t you just take it and be done with it?!”
Her lips quiver in fear. She’s never seen Remus angry before. His sudden raise of tone was flinching her, terrifying her that her tears are now pouring like a tidal wave. Perhaps her perfect gentle Remus isn’t so perfect after all.
“I don’t like you and I never will.” He says firmly, trying to fight the tears forming on his eyes “I think it’s best that we avoid each other from now on. I don’t want to have you around me anymore.”
With those last words, Remus left the room with a slam of the door. He was being cruel, he knew it. He could've talk to her gently, making her understand why they could never be together instead of lying and lashing out at her. But the latter would require more time and higher risk of them falling deeper in love with each other and he just couldn’t risk it. She’s been hung on false hope for too long, he had to be cruel and end it right then and there.
A tear rolled down his eyes as he walked out of the mansion. His chest was aching. Every inch of his fibre was burning, fighting the urge to turn his heels and run back to her. The sight of her crying will forever be burned in the back of his head as a remainder of just how much of a monster he truly is. If hating him is what it’ll take to keep her away then he’ll do it. No matter how great the damage is for his soul, so long as she’s safe and sound, he’ll find comfort on the bed of his shattered heart.
↠ Kiss it off Me
#remus lupin#remus lupin angst#remus lupin scenario#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin fanfic#remus lupin oneshot#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x yn#remus lupin x oc#remus x you#remus x reader#remus x yn
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His Whole Heart
pairing: kaz brekker x reader
genre: fluff
Sat in the library surrounded by books and papers, a pencil held between her fingers, as she bit her thumb nail in concentration. Y/N flipped through a few books taking notes and marking pages as she read. She reached for her cup of tea and brought it to her lips, only to find it empty. Groaning, she stretched and started packing her bag before quickly making her way back to her dorm.
As she walked through the halls she heard students whispering to each other “Have you heard?” “Everyone just has to know by now.” “I wonder what he did.” She paused next to a group of younger students, “I’m sorry… I couldn’t help but overhear. Um, who were you talking about?” A young girl handed her a paper, “His wanted posters are all over town.” Y/N looked down and the face she saw made her heart sink. “Thank you so much. Have a good rest of your evening.” She continued her way back to her dorm and sighed. Oh Kaz… What did you do now?
~
Kaz sat in the tomb staring at the wall, deep in thought. He missed Y/N so much, but he knows he can’t go see her now. His face is everywhere. Someone would be bound to notice him at the university and report him. But he needed to see her so badly, she was his whole heart. After being together for almost two years but being friends for much longer, she became his source of comfort.
He put himself and the rest of his crew in the situation. Not directly of course, and he knew that. But he still felt responsible. He looked around the tomb at Nina, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, and Matthias. Their lives were in his hands and he could feel himself starting to crack under the stress, but he’s the bastard of the barrel and he knew how to stay collected.
A knock on the door made everyone jump and hold their respective weapons at the ready. Kaz motioned for Jesper to follow him as he limped to the door, cane in hand. Jesper pushed the door open and stood in shock. “Y/N?”
“Yes yes. Move and let me in.” She huffed as she walked past him carrying a large basket on her arm. Kaz watched as she moved to the main sitting area and placed her stuff on the table, with wide eyes. Nina jumped out of her seat and tackled her in a hug, “Oh Saints, Y/N! I’ve missed you!” Inej quickly followed and embraced the two girls tightly. “It’s been months, of course you missed me!” Y/N smiled at the two of them, “I brought food and blankets ‘cause Saints know you all need it.” As she unpacked her basket Jesper spoke up, “How did you find us, Y/N/N?”
“Let’s just say I’ve spent too much time with you lot.” She tossed a wink over her shoulder before pulling out the final few snacks. After greeting everyone and introducing herself to Matthias she turned to Kaz. Walking up to him, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and smiled up at him, “I’ve missed you.” Still in shock, all he could do was nod with a small smile.
“Now. What did you do? Your face is all over the Barrel!” She led him to a seat as she continued to lecture him, not noticing the giggles slipping past Nina’s lips and Jesper’s smug grin. “All of you are in so much danger now. Uhg! I’m just grateful you all are safe for the moment. How did you find this place anyway? It’s a great hideout. Kinda creepy though, don’t you think? It being a tomb and all.” She sat down next to Kaz and sighed. He watched her and couldn’t help the amused smile making its way to his face. Even now, she finds a way to be the caretaker she is. Her ever giving spirit is still there even in all this darkness.
Conversation started around the room and Kaz leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I love you so much.” She smiled and reached over for his gloved hand.
Inej watched their small intimate interaction with a smile. She loved Y/N without falter, but she loved Kaz with her even more. She watched their friendship grow into this complex intricate love story. Always knowing both sides of the story because they both go to her for advice or just a listening ear.
She knew Kaz was struggling with the fact of being apart from Y/N for so long. She knew of his sleepless nights and the burden he carried on his shoulders. Her heart hurt for him, but now she was so glad Y/N had somehow found them.
Y/N had been a source of comfort to all of them over the last couple of years. Some part of her was what each of them needed, and Y/N knew that. Each of her crows held a special place in her heart, and she loved all of them equally. Well, one more than the rest.
Yes, she fell for the Bastard of the Barrel. How? She doesn’t quite have the answer, but she will never regret it. She loved Kaz in spite of all his flaws and past trauma. He owned her whole heart as she owned his.
#kaz brekker#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker x you#kaz brekker x y/n#six of crows#six of crows x reader#six of crows imagines#ellora.writes
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Just Another Night at Sparky's
(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)
(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)
(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)
(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart.
Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to).
Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner.
Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books.
They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near.
Tonight was no different:
“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”
“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”
“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”
“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."
“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table.
(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)
The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude.
“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”
“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”
“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.”
Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”
As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.
On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another.
On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)
Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.
The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.
Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.
The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.
(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)
Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.
His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking.
Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.
His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.
He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.
Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things.
It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.
For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.
He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.
He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.
He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.
It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.
Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)
The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.
From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.
So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity.
People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds.
Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.
Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them.
He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills.
Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)
Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that.
After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting.
“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.”
Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.
“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation.
Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel��s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”
“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.
“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”
“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.
Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off.
“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”
That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds. Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”
(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)
The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight.
Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight.
Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.
A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.
Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”
Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.
“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five.
Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.
Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.
“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features.
“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”
He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.
Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight.
With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.
Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.
Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.
“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”
Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."
“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.
Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.
“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”
“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.
“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart.
“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”
Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises.
“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.”
“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement.
Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it.
At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome.
He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . .
Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—
Speak of the devil.
The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.
“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat.
“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”
“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again.
Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”
Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on.
“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.
Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”
Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ.
The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm.
After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.
“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick.
Something seemed off.
It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers.
But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again.
Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”
Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.
“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”
Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids.
“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think.
Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.
“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.
“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t.
Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason.
And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better.
“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.
He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least.
“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.”
Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales.
Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."
“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”
“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug.
“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”
Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”
Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?”
“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!”
Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).
Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.
“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried.
Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”
Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.)
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!”
“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”
“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”
Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”
“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.
Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling.
“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”
Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself.
“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.
Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded.
“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to.
Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside.
Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face.
Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.
A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.
“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?”
Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”
“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.
Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”
“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned.
True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”
Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”
Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.
Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”
“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked.
“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”
Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.
“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”
Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.
Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.
Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”
Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate.
Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”
“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.
“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.
“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.
“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”
Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”
Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”
“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”
Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”
Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white.
Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”
“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”
Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.
Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.
With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.
Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .
@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051
#my writing#my stories#fnaf movie#fnaf movie spoilers#ness the waiter#waiterpat/ness#matpat#egopats#matthew patrick#jack the cabbie#cabbie!cory/jack#coryxkenshin#kenshinegos#cory williams#mason kingsley/nightguard!mark#mark's abandoned-nightguard-cameo-character#markiplier#mark fischbach#tw food/drink#tw eating/drinking#tw implied trauma#tw mentions of blood#tw mentions of past violence
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I’m having a thought! So we all want to see Antoni smut cause we’re thirsty, but of course respectfully understand that he is Ace. But Artyom ….👀 OR Antoni remembers those things…. Endless possibilities there Ash
CW: At first NSFW for like... Four paragraphs, some initial consensual spice, more or less whumper POV in a way, death threats/murder, creepy whumper
Antoni allows no direct smut, Anon. This is as close as he will let me get.
-
Sweat trickles down the back of Artyom's neck, and his breath is hot and damp against hers. Her little cries are right against his ear, high-pitched. Her fingernails drag down his back, a little further with each rock of his hips.
He couldn't begin to describe how this feels. Hot, tight, wet - all the usual words come to mind but none of them are good enough.
Carly Riggs digs her nails so deep into his back he's sure he'll find blood later, whispering oh god oh god oh god as she comes. The way she goes tighter than ever around him, the prickle of pain near his shoulder blades, even just the way her voice sounds all overwhelms him and he follows her, eyes tightly closed as pleasure takes him.
The leather of her car's backseat sticks to his arms, his head nearly knocking into the door, but finally they slow and then stop, both of them breathing hard.
"Eto bylo khorosho," He groans. "Tak khorosho, tak korosho..."
Carly reaches one hand up to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smiling at him. It's a dopey expression, sweet and sated. He likes that look on her. "What?"
"Sorry. I mean... Very good. It was good." His accent is rougher just after sex, voice slightly breathless and rasping. He pulls back reluctantly, dropping a hand to dig around for his boxers and jeans. "We should do again sometime, see if I can be even better."
"Better than tonight?" Carly laughs, pushing herself up to seated, wriggle her jeans back up over her hips. "I might die."
"Only in little ways." He winks at her before pulling his shirt back on. "This is the idea, right?"
"Oh my god. Artyom, you are the weirdest." She's still grinning as he offers her a hand to scoot along the seat and finally stand. The breeze outside the car cools and dries the sweat on them both. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles in the back, and they're both flushed and have a sheen of sweat. Not entirely subtle. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the party with me?"
"I am sure." He smiles, leaning back against the side of her car. She eases the door shut and follows suit, their elbows nearly touching. She yanks her tank top back down.
"Whenever somebody gets you to agree to a date, I bet you'll be an amazing boyfriend," Carly says, teasing and not-teasing.
"Maybe." He has no intention of dating anyone. Ever. But he doesn't say that to her. "Be safe at the party, eh?"
"Of course." She leans over to bump affectionately against him, as close as he allows to a goodnight kiss. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday, right? We both open that day."
"Da. You will see me then. Now I need to go inside. Keep off your lights until you are gone from my neighborhood, please."
"Just tell your mom to fuck off." Carly sighs, finger-combing her hair as best she can. "You're a fucking adult. Do what you want."
"Mmmn. Easier to say than to do."
It isn't his mother he is worried about getting a good look at Carly Riggs.
But he just gives her a hug, her perfume and the scent of them together a heady mix in the air, and opens her front door for her to settle inside and drive away, easing slowly down the road to make as little noise as she can.
His key in the lock makes only the slightest sound, and he oiled the hinges so the door never so much as squeaks. The house is dark and silent, the TV for once is off. He moves with perfect knowledge of every obstacle between him and his bedroom - avoiding the box of clothes for donating that has been sitting for three months now, his mother's little dog's pile of toys, even a kitchen chair out of place.
The vodka in the freezer pours easily into a shot glass, and he knocks it back to feel it freeze and burn, tasteless, down his throat.
Two more shots and the warmth spreads further than the cold, so he adds a little water to cover what he stole and puts it back, turning the bottle so the label is exactly the way it was when he came in..
He has long experience at this. His father will never know, never guess. The better for his health if his vodka turns more and more to simple water, anyway.
He showers, washing Carly off him as well as the smells of his job. When he checks the mirror after drying off and pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, he sees - yes, scratches, with bright red spots where blood welled up, from just below his shoulder blades down nearly to his waist.
He smirks at the sight, but then realizes the bathroom door is open. His smile fades as his eyes raise.
Reflected in the mirror, Misha stares at him, expression somehow both empty and avid.
"... The bathroom is taken," He says, after a breath. His younger brother, head tipped against the doorframe and mop of hair falling over his eyes, smiles. It's thin, and it doesn't reach his eyes.
None of Misha's expressions ever reach his eyes.
"Got mauled by a tiger at work tonight?" Misha's voice is light. He makes a little claw gesture with one hand, fingers bent. "Rrrrow."
"Misha-"
"Which girl was it? The cute brown-haired one?"
Artyom turns away. "None of your business. Go back to bed." He wets a toothbrush and gets toothpaste, hoping to stave off the conversation long enough for Misha to lose interest.
At first, he thinks he might have succeeded. Misha disappears from the doorway, and Artyom makes his way to his bedroom in the dark. His father's snores are deafening, down the hall. His mother will be sleeping in the guest room, and even if she snores, too, it would be impossible to hear it over his father.
He pads barefoot over the hardwood floor until he heads into his room, letting the door close behind him and collapsing onto his twin-sized bed with his feet hanging off the end. He can hear Misha's television in his room going through their shared wall, low murmuring voices.
There's a beat of silence. Artyom takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, slowly exhales. Outside, the breeze shivers the leaves into a soft rustle. His clock reads past midnight, but if both his parents are asleep already, they won't know to bother him about it.
Not that anyone ever minds when Misha misses curfew, but if Tyoma is late, oh, let hell rain down...
He groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up. He can feel bitter tomorrow. Besides
"The blonde, then?"
Artyom shoots upright with his heart in his throat, eyes briefly wide. "Chto za khren', Misha!"
His brother is a shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched.
Smiling.
In the dark, he has only even deeper shadows for eyes.
"Tell me which girl it was, Tyoma."
"I... Why?" His heart pounds, and he scoots until his back hits the wall, watching as Misha pushes lazily away from the wall and takes the two or three strides he needs to drop into the computer chair Artyom keeps next to his desk. No computer, but maybe one day. If he can save up.
"Because I want to know, dumbass." Misha laughs, leaning over. There has always been something strange about his laugh. "I want to know who's out there stealing my brother's heart."
"No one is." It's an honest answer. "Not sure I even have one to steal, Mishka." Less honest. But his voice is still too airy, and he can tell Misha enjoys the idea that he has frightened him. "It's just... friends with benefits. Da?"
"Is it?" Misha scoots the chair closer, clicking over the boards on the floor. Artyom feels strangely trapped, even though he could push Misha back and run. But he doesn't. His brother won't hurt him.
Not yet.
"It is." He drops his voice even further. "I promise, Mishka. There is no one outside the family. No one."
"No one but me." Misha is inches from him, his knees touching the side of Artyom's bed. Now light from outside, dimly white, glimmers over his dark eyes. "Right? Right, Tyoma? Family first."
"Right." Tyoma meets his gaze. Misha's eyes are like dead things, empty marbles in a moving face. "Family first. No one is more important than family."
"Right. And I'm your family. Me. So you can't run off to screw people if it means not taking care of me, right? If you get some girlfriend-"
"I don't even want one." Artyom cuts him off. Misha leans even closer, somehow. And there's a glint, a sheen of moonlight off metal. His little brother is holding a knife. "Carly and I are just friends who, who fool around sometimes."
"Carly, then." Misha's smile widens, like a skull's rictus grin. "The blonde. I figured."
Artyom winces, internally. But all he does is swallow the lump in his throat and nod. "Da, Mishka. She has a boyfriend at college. This is just for fun."
"Khoroshiy, Tyoma."
The silence draws out, and then Misha moves in almost a lunge forward and upright. Artyom flinches back, but Misha only ruffles his hair, giggling like he used to do when they were kids and he would push other children down the slide before they were ready.
"Relax. You are my family, too, Tyoma." He pats the side of Artyom's face. The knife in his other hand disappears back into a pocket, closed up into harmlessness again. "Family first."
"Family first," Artyom whispers.
Misha turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Artyom doesn't fall asleep until it's nearly dawn.
A week later, Misha calls him for help, and he spends the night digging a grave in the woods, just deep enough to cover two bodies with pine needles and fallen leaves without it being obvious. It takes hours, and his arms burn, muscles screaming for him to stop. He ignores the pain.
Misha helps, which he doesn't usually do. He digs, too, his eyes locked on Artyom's face. The dead bodies mean nothing, now. They've served their purpose.
"They're both pretty," Misha says idly. "Good luck I found them, huh?"
Artyom grunts.
"Hey. Tyoma." Misha snaps his fingers and Artyom looks up. Misha is only a couple feet away. He has the same look on his face as he had in Artyom's room the other night.
"Don't see her again outside of work, Tyoma. Don't. You don't need friends. You have me."
"... Mishka-"
"Don't 'Mishka' me. I said don't hang out with Carly Riggs anymore unless I'm with you. Okay?"
"... Yeah."
"Say you won't. Say it out loud. I can finish this myself, you know."
Artyom thinks of the knife Misha keeps, one he never uses on anyone else. He knows that knife is for him.
Artyom's heart pounds all over again, exertion and a dim terror beneath. "... I will not hang out with Carly without you."
"Good. Let's finish this up."
He goes back to digging, and Artyom follows suit, trying not to look too hard at the bodies.
A couple Misha saw in a bar and wanted to destroy. So he did. And now Artyom buries them for him, as always. Because his mother's heart would shatter if her youngest son was caught doing such evil things.
Because he knows what he must do to protect the brother who has been the center of his life since his birth. The brother who will one day, he thinks, be the center of his death, too.
He feels Misha's eyes on him like a brand as he dumps shovels of dirt over the open dark, slightly feline eyes and messy dark hair of the man. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of the woman. She has a t-shirt on from the restaurant where Artyom's been working.
It isn't a coincidence. It's a message, and Artyom understands.
Family first.
Or else.
#whump#box boy universe#antoni sings lullabies#artyom#burying a body#murder#death#horror fiction#misha the serial killer#some consensual spice#death threats tw#creepy whumper#sadistic whumper#obsessive whumper#whumpers#bbu#mmmmmn backstory whump#consensual spice tw
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They really didn't do enough with the sam seeing visions and thinking that they're from God, when really they're from Lucifer plotline in s11, because holy crap that was good. There is something that is just so devastatingly fascinating about sam, desperate to believe in a force greater than himself, and for that force of divine intervention and purity to have chosen him. Then to have these visions show him his deepest and most central traumatic wound, to lead him back towards this suffering. Oh the TURMOIL.
Sam has always craved purity - he has always wanted desperately to belong, to be pure like everyone else. The little kid who thought he could never go on a holy quest because he wasn't clean enough, who went on to find out about the demon blood fed to him when he was an infant and thinking this is the puzzle piece he was missing - this is the answer to why he feels the way he does - he is impure and wretched on a biological level. He is filled with self-doubt in s1-2 as to his powers and what this means for him, clawing at faith (faith in Dean and their policy of saving people as much as faith in a religious sense) to feel stabalised. He is frustrated and angry in s4 at this demon blood in him, the fact that there is something innately evil in him that he can never 'rip out' or 'scrub clean'. Then by the time s8 rolls around he LEAPS at the chance to purify himself. Yeah, cause that's healthy. All of this is to say that when sam gets his first vision after praying in the hospital chapel, he wants so desperately to believe that it is God who has looked down on him and thought him worthy. That, for once, the divine have been the ones to put their faith in him, not the devil.
And then the reveal. It was never God. It was never something holy.
Evil has kept its claws in him since he was six months old and he will never be clean of it. It was the devil all along. This realisation is crushing and I will never get over Sam's face as he realises, wide eyed with shock and horror as a tears spills out of his eye. Devastating.
But yet the deep seeded horror of this plotline is so underexplored. Like, call me biased but I would have really stretched this idea out a few more episodes at LEAST. Place more emphasis on this moral conundrum between wanting to have faith and yet this faith asking you to do something no person should ever go through.
In fact, I loved the first few episodes of s11, they had me on the edge of my seat. The black veined virus thing?? Amazing - I want more. It would have been cool to have seen this be a continuous thing across the whole season. Like if the season slowly devolved into this kind of wrought post-apocalyptic thing. Ik that probably wouldn't work but I would have loved to see it. And creepy baby Amara and that exorcism stuff - so cool. Anyway, this post is kind of a mess, but I just loved how s11 started; the darker tone, the boys completely out of their depth, the idea of this biblical plague that makes people 'unclean, in the biblical sense' - super fun ideas. It's not that I didn't like where s11 ended up, but I just feel like at some point the tone completely changed and it just got a bit... goofy. I blame Lucifer, mainly (and chuck). Every scene with Lucifer and Sam I was pulling my hair out cause WHY IS SAM SO CALM?? This guy literally tortured him for centuries and had him so dreadfully freaked out at the start of the season and now its like yeah whatever. And it's not like I expected it to take centre stage or anything but in theory, the idea that the Winchester's bestest bestie Cas is possessed by Lucifer, who they actually now need to stop Amara should have been some crazy psycho horror shit. Sam should have been seeing Lucifer's mannerisms like second nature, thinking he's going crazy. Dean should be worried that Sam's is going off his rocker and yet also feeling something so fundamentally off with Cas. But they just didn't feel the need to delve into that whatsoever I guess.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I really loved the ideas, particularly surrounding Sam, that were going on at the start of s11. I think using this as a springboard would have been a really interesting exploration of character for him, and Dean too as he is forced to confront how Sam's relationship with faith and purity differs from his own, and then ultimately a revaluation of the way he sees him. I mean, he wasn't exactly supportive once he found out Sam having demon blood had some side effects. Even when he didn't know about Sam drinking demon blood or Ruby, even when Sam was truly just saving people he called him a monster, told him that if he didn't know him, he's want to hunt him. Crazy times.
#supernatural#sam winchester#spn#dean winchester#castiel#lucifer#spn s11#poor sammy#I have similar ideas about the s7 beginning#The start of s7 is just amazing I love it also#shit just keeps happening#there is nothing like the pit in your stomach that falls when at the end of the second episode sam and dean are in the ambulance#sam's passed out dean w a broken leg and dean goes which hospital are you taking us to? and the paramedic is like sixous falls#the place where the leviathans are#just damn#and then the escape from the hospital??#omg there is nothing like the true vulnerable horror in which Dean scrambles out of the hospital like another one of my favourite scenes#the tension as he drags himself out of there on crutches#leviathan doctors hot on his tail#wow
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28 DAYS: CHAPTER THREE
Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given the choice to go to rehab for 28 days, or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.
Chapter characters: Dean Winchester, Jack Kline, mentions John Winchester, child Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer, Max Baines, Ann Milton, Emma Winchester, Lydia Prime
Chapter warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, withdrawal (including dry heaves and panic), flashbacks, sexual situation, drugs
Words: 2,300
ANs: Thank you for your patience with the delay in getting this out. My partner and I have been passing a nasty cold back and forth for a month, and cold medicine doesn’t support creativity in the Minefield.
Many thanks and love to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker
Text divider by @talesmaniac89
CHAPTER THREE
Dean’s first dinner in recovery included three servings of angst and less than a mouthful of actual food. Crowley called Meg a whore; she threatened to stab him with a fork through his “self-inflicted trach scar, (you) creepy little bastard”; then, said creepy little bastard threw his lemonade in her face before storming off.
Now, Dean’s lying face-down on his thin yet lumpy twin XL, clutching a pillow across the back of his head, silently imploring the kid to stop eating candy bars and go the fuck to sleep so he can be miserable in peace.
There’s nothing in his stomach but bile when he finally drags his ass to the cold, hard bathroom. He flings the lid and seat of the toilet open without agitating his dislocated shoulder too much, drops to his knees, and lurches over the bowl.
The discharging doctor’s words begin running through his mind, as he prays his eyeballs don’t burst from their sockets.
“Expect to be nauseated. They will have anti-nausea options — your preference. You’ll have chills and shakes. Drink lots of water. Think of it as a 24 or 48-hour bug... or a really bad hangover.”
The cycle is vicious — nausea and chills make his body seize, and the convulsions ignite more pain from his head to his toes. To top it off, he has no control over the gross sounds being forced from his chest with every gag and recoil.
He’ll definitely wake up the kid if he doesn’t keep it down, and that kid needs sleep. He’s a fucking teenager, growing and healing.
Dean hates that an impressionable kid like Jack is seeing him at his worst. He hates that everyone he knows is aware that deep down, he’s an absolute fucking wreck. He hates that he fucked up so colossally that he’s lost his right to be in his own damned home, quieting his mind and calming his heart his own way.
He doesn’t know how he’ll ever look them in the eyes again — Emma, Sam, Jess, and their kids, Tessa.
Dean swallows back tears and sobs, so he can get control over his breathing.
“Panic attacks are common during this time as your body rids itself of alcohol. I’m sending scripts for thiamine — just as a precaution — and gabapentin to keep you calm.”
He’s not calm though, so he draws shallow breaths through his nose until his body finally seems to get the message. Finally, he slumps against the steady cold porcelain, resting his head on his serviceable forearm.
On his umpteenth round of breathing exercises, there’s a light tap at the door. When he squints up at the doorway, he finds double visions of Jack and his bleary blue eyes, shrouded with concern.
“I can go get you some Pepto or something.”
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry I woke y’up,, kid,” he rasps, slowly pushing himself up with a series of grunts and gasps.
“It’s OK. It happens to all of us. Do you want anything? They’ll let me come down for you if you need help.”
Once Dean’s standing, he curses how frigid the tile floor is under his bare feet. He should’ve put socks on because he can hardly feel his toes as he flushes the toilet.
“Thanks... Jack.” Dean huffs a sigh and tries to swallow back the saliva, pooling in his mouth as he turns to the vanity and twists the knobs of the sink on cold. “I just gotta get through this.”
As Dean washes his good hand and forearm, he sees the scrawny teen shrug in his periphery. Dean scoops water into his mouth to rinse and spit, nodding to reassure himself.
“OK.” Jack’s voice fades. “But whenever you decide to stop punishing yourself, I’m happy to help.”
Before Dean can muster up a scowl and a disparaging comeback, the kid’s already climbing under his covers with his furry dragon.
“Is he gonna be OK?” Sam whispers with wide eyes and chewed lips.
Dean knows that Sam isn’t old enough to process John’s bullshit, but that doesn’t stop John from drinking a fifth of Jack on any given Sunday, kicking a hole in the bathroom door, and passing out on the toilet.
“He’s fine, Sammy — just gotta sleep it off,” Dean murmurs as he quietly closes the door to John’s bedroom and drapes an arm around Sam’s shoulders as he makes his way down the short hallway.
John bet on the Chiefs’ game and lost. Betting never ended well for John because, the way Dean saw it, John placed bets with his ego, not his head, and he almost always lost.
At least this time, he blacked out before the game was over, which made him more pliable for Dean to maneuver and easier for Dean to keep Sam out of John’s sight.
“What’re you hungry for, Sammy, mac and cheese or mac and cheese?” Dean strides through the tiny living area to the galley kitchen on the other side of the two-bedroom shack.
Sam whines, following his big brother’s footsteps through the galley. “We just had mac and cheese, can’t we have hamburgers?”
“No hamburger, buddy.”
Dean hates telling his little brother no. He wishes he could make burgers every night just the way Sam likes, with extra American cheese and pickles, and those waffle fries with the spicy seasoning.
“Do we have hot dogs?” Sam asks, furrowing his little 7-year-old brow as he hikes himself up onto a kitchen chair.
Dean tilts his head before digging deeper inside the fridge. He finds a package with two hot dogs, but he isn’t sure how long they’ve been open. He’s relieved to discover that they don’t reek like a dead mouse when he pulls at the plastic and takes a sniff.
“You’re in luck, baby brother. Want ‘em fried up in the pan first?” He grabs the milk and butter, too, before letting the door fall closed.
“Yeah!”
Dean knew how Sam would answer. Sam loves when Dean slices up the dogs and fries them in a pan. They get crispy and salty, and it makes Sam feel like it’s a delicacy; it makes him smile. And when Sam smiles, Dean smiles.
As Dean sets out the pan for the hot dogs and the pot for the macaroni, he notices the bottle of chocolate sauce is almost empty. He smirks to himself as he quickly mixes up a small cup of chocolate milk for Sam, leaving just enough milk for the macaroni and cheese.
“Here,” he says, setting the cup next to where Sam is working on his weekend math homework. “Don’t drink it too fast, you puked last time.”
Sam beams at the cup of chocolatey goodness before turning his bright grin up to shine on Dean. “Thanks, Dean. You’re the best big brother ever.”
Dean shuffles out of the bathroom to his bed with a cup of water from the tap. The thought of drinking it threatens to make him gag. He should probably go get something for his stomach, but the night nurse has a lot more to worry about than his dumb ass, and this will pass soon enough. He’ll just lie back down and wait it out.
He sets his cup on the nightstand before straightening his bedding and carefully sliding under the cool sheet and light blanket to stare at the ceiling. He draws small, manageable breaths in through his nose and pushes them out his mouth.
Shadows from the trees and the moon outside dance across the ceiling like a Halloween decoration. The stark images remind Dean of a project from his first-grade art class.
His favorite teacher, Ms. Alba, brought the music teacher in to collaborate on a holiday assignment with the kids. The art teacher passed out reams of construction paper, plastic scissors, glue sticks, glitter, and crayons, while the music teacher told the story of Death.
“He appears at midnight every year on Halloween in graveyards all over the world, fiddle in hand, to beckon the dead from their graves, to dance with him ‘til dawn.”
The class gasped and squealed in delight, as the music teacher dropped the needle onto the vinyl to play a seven-minute-long symphonic poem called “Danse Macabre”.
Dean had never heard anything like it. It was joyful and tragic, and it made him feel like spinning in circles. He thought it sounded like the instruments were real people with broken hearts and desires, willing themselves to live, if only for a few hours.
According to Ms. Alba, Dean’s creation was vibrant, layered, and mournful. He didn’t know what all those words meant at the time, but her eyes told him that it was good.
Thankfully, the Winchesters were still living with Bobby and Ellen. Ellen oohed and ahhed over the glittery disaster and taped it dead-center on the front of her olive-colored freezer door. She made a point to show it to John and Bobby when they got home from the garage, too. Bobby agreed it was a masterpiece, and John kept his mouth shut because he wouldn’t dare say boo to Ellen Harvelle.
Dean shivers under the covers that are not enough, and yet too much. He’s cold and sweating, trying to remain motionless so as not to agitate his injuries or further disrupt Jack. He thinks about getting one of his flannels or a pair of socks, but then he realizes that requires movement, which causes pain, which wakes up the kid, and he’s right back where he started.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets.
His mind races and so does his gaze, now used to the dark and searching for something to distract himself. He spots a cabinet full of books on Jack’s side of the room, and sighs.
He sweeps the blankets off himself and rolls off the bed to trudge to the bookshelf. The moonlight is enough to show him the many familiar titles of books he’s read before, and his eyes land on Slaughterhouse-Five.
He instantly reaches for it. “Nice.”
Dean grins as he hobbles back to his bed. Since he’s up, he decides to pull on a pair of socks, and the relief is immediate. He shakes his head at how stupid he is — can’t even seem to see straight enough to help himself.
He darts his eyes to the bed next to his. The kid’s sleeping curled around his stuffed animal with his back to Dean, peaceful and innocent, but wise beyond his years.
Dean turns his bedside lamp on low and fluffs his pillow again before propping himself up against the headboard to read.
“Daddy? Are you here?”
“Shit,” Dean swears under his breath. “Get dressed.”
It’s not his weekend to have Emma. He’s not in any condition to be around his daughter right now, and neither are the two other people in his bedroom.
“I have something to show you.” His daughter’s excited voice gets closer with every anxious breath he takes.
Dean tosses articles of clothing at his bewildered guests, claws at his bedding to straighten it, and tries to hide the white powder and paraphernalia.
“Just a minute, Em!” Dean calls from his room and then turns to hiss at his partners in debauchery. “Hide.”
Max blinks, and his brow furrows. “What?! Where?”
Anna grabs Max by the wrist as she scoops up her underwear. “That’s his daughter, Max.”
Before Dean can conceal the evidence that he has no right to the title of father, his daughter is opening his bedroom door and letting herself inside.
“Oh!” Emma’s eyes go wide, and she gasps. She blinks rapidly for several beats as Dean and his guests stand frozen in place.
“I’m... sorry, I just wanted to...”
“Baby, it’s not what it looks like,” Dean starts, clutching a pillow across his middle.
Emma starts to back away, and Dean takes a step toward her.
“Don’t,” she says, and her blinking eyes begin to fill with tears. “It’s OK, just... don’t.”
Dean groans as she backs all the way out of the room and disappears down the hall. He tosses the pillow aside and snatches his jeans from the armchair beside his bed to quickly step into them, snagging a t-shirt from atop his dresser as he dashes out the door.
“Emma!” Dean calls to her as he runs down the hall, shrugging into his shirt.
In the living room, he meets Lydia’s angry glare and Emma’s retreat out his front door. He stops cold and drops his gaze to his bare feet.
“I can only imagine what she just walked in on,” Lydia says, her delicate features twisted into a scowl. “Here. This is what she wanted to show you. She made it for you in art class.”
Dangling from Lydia’s grip is Emma’s latest attempt with textiles. She’s been working with wood and fiber. The letters DW were carved from basswood and wrapped with hand-spun yarn.
Dean looks up at his ex. “Lydia-”
“Take it, Dean.”
He reaches for the gift with a heavy sigh, staring at the intricate twining of carefully chosen colors. “Thanks.”
Lydia echoes his sigh and shakes her head. “Don’t ask me to go to bat for you this time, Dean. Joint custody means just that. You don’t get to fuck off just because it’s not your weekend or whatever.”
Dean winces but nods. “I know.”
“You always say that.” Lydia rolls her eyes and turns to leave. “Give her a day or so to cool off. I’ll let you know if she wants to come up this weekend.”
The door clicks closed behind her, and minutes pass before he hears Lydia’s Mercedes drive away.
Two days later, he receives a text from his ex: “Emma isn’t feeling well, so she’s staying home this weekend.”
Home.
Dean’s house is not Emma’s home.
Chapter 4
Please let me know what you think!
Series Masterlist
MJ’s Masterlist
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The Only Option
Rowaelin Month 2022, Day 4: Royalty/Modern Royalty AU
Word count: 1,035
Warnings: uhhh...none ;)
Enjoy!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aelin’s heels clacked angrily against the marble flooring of the palace as she strode through the halls, completely ignoring the way her PR assistants practically chased after her, babbling about all the press opportunities this would entail, all the ways she could use her expansive platform to promote this--this news. All in her parents’ favor, of course.
In Terrasen’s favor.
Fuck Terrasen’s favor.
This was anything but an event Aelin wanted to publicize. But being the crown princess of Terrasen meant that she had very little if any say in what she did and didn’t publicize on her carefully curated public Instagram account and to the news outlets.
Successfully outdistancing the chattering PR team--as much as she deeply appreciated everything they did for her, she couldn’t stand to be around them a second longer--Aelin ducked through the doorway that led to the back stairs, kicked off her heels, and stormed up the stairs two at a time until she reached the top, where she pushed through another door into the royal family’s private wing. She flicked a glance around the hallway, a tiny piece of herself relieved to find it empty, rushed into her rooms, making sure to close and lock the door behind her, and sank down onto the plush carpet, flinging her heels halfway across the space, face in her hands.
Fuck.
The absolute last thing she wanted to do this year was get married.
She’d had a hectic enough day, what with being hounded by her publicist to set an actual date to appear on national TV as a guest on The Dorian Havilliard Show on top of the upcoming visit from the Eyllwe diplomats, the rapidly approaching fall elections, and constantly worrying that she was both overtaxing herself and not doing nearly enough to fulfill her role as crown princess. Every time she turned around, it seemed, there was someone else either shoving a clipboard in her face or badgering her with endless inane questions, and she’d just about had it.
And she’d barely had a spare second that day to see Rowan, to spend even a few seconds in his presence. Gods, she needed him and his eternally-present calm, needed him to pull her back to reality.
Then her parents informed her that they were calling a private meeting after dinner, and her mind started churning with all the possibilities of what could be wrong. War? Stock market crash? Drought? Famine? Epidemic outbreak? Death?
None of her worst-case scenarios included the night’s heart-stopping news.
“We don’t want to do this either,” Evalin said softly, worry lines creased into her forehead, “but Fireheart, I--” The queen of Terrasen drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if we have any other options left.”
Rhoe laid his hand atop his wife’s, the lines etched around his exhausted eyes deepening. “We aren’t going to force you two to jump headlong into a proposal,” he added. “I promise, Fireheart.”
Aelin’s lips were pressed into a flat, tense line. “Dad!” she burst out, bracing her hands atop the table. “Don’t I get an explanation?” She raked her hands through her loose hair, her claw clip long since discarded. “I’m twenty-two, Dad, not twelve. I’m an adult and perfectly capable of comprehending the reasoning behind what you say. And if you don’t offer an explanation, I’ll be forced to make my own.”
The king of Terrasen whooshed out a deep sigh, exchanging a loaded stare with his queen.
Aelin bit her lower lip. “I hate it when you two do that.”
“Read each other’s minds?” Evalin quipped, trying to ease the tension.
Aelin cracked a hint of a grin. “Or something. It’s honestly a little bit creepy.” She dropped back into her seat. “Talk to me. Please.”
“The Revisionists are clamoring again,” Rhoe began, tapping on the tablet that laid atop the table in the small, private conference room where they were.
“They’ve always been all talk and no action,” Aelin said skeptically, arching a brow.
Her father’s eyes seemed to age ten years. “Not this time.” He swiped a set of images across the screen, rotating the tablet so Aelin could fully see it. “These were captured on various cameras and cell phones two nights ago in the northeast districts, near the…well, the seedier parts of town.” Aelin nodded, she knew exactly which part of Orynth her father was referencing. “This is more than talk, Fireheart.”
The images burned into Aelin’s eyes, her mind. Raised fists, explicit signs, torches and fireworks and even a few homemade weapons of other sorts, violent graffiti on alley walls, a crowd of shouting people clustered around a man in dark clothing with his hands cupped around his mouth. Movement through darkened streets, hurled bricks, shattered windows, slurs painted across businesses.
“They are inciting people towards outright rebellion,” Rhoe whispered, all the strain of the crown weighing heavy in his words. “And if we do not prove the monarchy can hold, can adapt with the times--”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence.
“They’re coming for us.” Aelin’s voice was hollow.
“Yes.” Evalin didn’t bother to sugarcoat anything. “Yes, they are.”
Aelin shook her head slowly. “Here’s what I don’t understand. What the hell is a royal wedding going to do to combat the Revisionists?”
“Language,” her mother chided automatically.
“Situation calls for mild swearing.”
“Fair enough.” The queen pursed her lips. “The Revisionists are all about removing what they see as the elitist nature of the monarchy. Something about needing people not born royal as their leaders.”
“The fact that this is a constitutional monarchy apparently being discarded,” Rhoe scoffed. “We try over and over to emphasize how the royal family does little more than sit in on Parliament’s meetings, yet we’re still the scapegoat.”
“That notwithstanding,” Evalin continued, “if we were to have a royal engagement, the crown princess and her well-known, generally beloved boyfriend, who was very much not born royal and holds quite a lot of popularity for it, well…” She trailed off, the conclusion apparent.
“I am not going to--to use Rowan like that.” Aelin’s voice was pure steel.
Her parents exchanged another silent, loaded glance.
“Fireheart,” her mother ventured, cautiously, “Rowan has already agreed.”
~~~
TAGS:
@charlizeed
@cretaceous-therapod
@clea-nightingale
@autumnbabylon
@nerdperson524
@claralady
@fireheartwhitethorn4ever
@morganofthewildfire
@rowanaelinn
@wesupremeginger
@story-scribbler
@nicolivesinbooks
@mackenzieclutt
@stardelia
@shanias-world
@mybloodrunsblue
@swankii-art-teacher
@wordsafterhours
@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks
@violet-mermaid7
@holdthefrickup
@goddess-aelin
@rowaelinismyotp
@dealfea
@irondork
@elentiyawhitethorn
@live-the-fangirl-life
@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell
@chronicchthonic14
@whispers-in-the-darkest-heart
@sweet-but-stormy
@hanging-from-a-cliff
@jorjy-jo
@rowaelinrambling
@thegreyj
@silentquartz
@backtobl4ck
@throneofus7
@elizarikaallen
@llyncooljones
#my writing#aelin galathynius#rowan whitethorn#rowaelin#modern royalty au#rowaelinmonth#rowaelin month
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Sense
CyberHanami Day 1 prompt, 'Born to Die'
V feels like a ghost in his own home as he mooches from room to room unable to settle or focus. Kerry has been gone for hours and with no word from his mainline V doesn’t know what to think.
“He prolly just got high at the studio and lost track of time,” Johnny tells him unhelpfully,
“Nah, he wrapped up last week, album’s comin’ out next month.” V thinks about the songs he’s heard from Kerry’s latest record, some leave him with a smile, others with tears, but they’re all fucking amazing – it rocks like nothing Kerry has done in years. “It’s gonna go nova when it comes out J, they’re gonna love it.”
Johnny nods, he’s got to agree, his old bandmate is back on form to be sure, it’s just a shame it took what’s happened in the last few months to get him there.
The two men turn to face the window as the sound of a car draws their attention, sure enough Kerry spills out, clearly in no state to be driving, he stumbles through the side door barely making it to the couch before collapsing onto the seat.
“Ker, finally, I was worried.” V sweeps over to sit next to his gorgeous Rockerboy, “I missed you.”
Kerry seems to be finding it difficult to focus, “I love you V,” he whispers before drifting into a troubled and uncomfortable sleep.
“See he’s fine,” says Johnny gesturing to his clearly not fine friend, earning a glare from V.
“ I just wish he’d talk to me,” V says sadly, “whatever’s been bugging him, he won’t talk about it. We used to talk about everything, but it’s been weeks since we’ve had a proper conversation.”
Johnny bites his tongue, unsure if this is a good time to tell the ex-merc what’s going on – again – or to save it til morning, he decides on the latter.
-
V doesn’t remember waking up, he feels like he’s been lying here staring at Kerry’s sleeping features forever – maybe he has – the blare of the radio alarm pulls him out of his reverie and he watches his mainline leave their bed with a grumble and a stretch and go into the bathroom, Johnny appears next to the distracted man, “V, c’mon things to do, gotta delta.”
“Shit Johnny, ever heard of boundaries?”
“Hmm, not in relation to me no,” the rocker muses.
V realises he must’ve slept in his clothes again, but he can’t get the energy together to get changed.
“Where are we going, don’t remember having plans?”
“You’ll see, get yourself downstairs,” Johnny tells V as he hustles him towards the staircase, his hurry not entirely because he doesn’t want the younger man to hear the sobbing from the bathroom.
-
“What’re we doing here Johnny?” V asks as they stand watching the clouds gather over North Oak.
“You mean philosophically or actually?”
V glares at his friend, “You’re a fucking annoying asshole sometimes y’know,”
“Shit, only sometimes? Must try harder.”
The sun’s not been up for long and the overcast sky hints at coldness, but neither man is really feeling it, despite this both have their hands deep in their pockets and shoulders hunched against the weather. As the first drops of rain fall a car appears and stops a few feet away from them.
“He’s here.” Johnny states.
V had recognised Kerry’s car as soon as it came into view, he would’ve driven if Kerry had asked, seems dumb them going separately to the same place. Johnny held his arm tightly to stop him from running towards his lover as the door swings up and he makes his way onto the footpath.
Kerry seems older than he used to, thinner, drawn, maybe even limping a little on that cranky knee he was always griping about, V aches to go to him, to hold him tight, but Johnny’s chrome hand keeps a firm grip as Kerry sweeps past them without a second glance.
They follow keeping a few feet behind, Kerry is virtually radiating a need for personal space right now and they respect that.
“I don’t like it here Johnny, it’s …dunno…creepy.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” the older man mumbles under his breath.
Kerry stops at an alcove near the back and after spending a moment seemingly staring at the wall, sinks onto the floor with his head between his knees and sobs uncontrollably, V breaks from Johnny’s grasp, running towards the distraught man, but stopping short of the hug that was his initial intent. Johnny catches up to the ex-merc, casting a concerned look at his worryingly blank face.
“Jeez Johnny, I forgot, how the fuck could I forget?”
“It’s been a year, you’re fading,” the other man says with a shrug.
Kerry lifts his head, wiping his face on the back of his arm, there’s a fond half-smile there that mingles with the tear tracks and breaks V’s heart.
“Never fade away V,” Kerry whispers touching his fingertips to the stone.
#CyberHanami23#kerry is my muse#kerry eurodyne x male v#kerry eurodyne#kerry x male v#kerry x v#cyberpunk kerry#johnny silverhand#johnny and v as friends
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Blood Fest Week 1: our strange duet
Blood Fest prompts: Rope. Teeth. Size. Blood. keywords: Wicked. Rain.
summary: Maxi has a hard time focusing at work after your date the night before, and resorts to some... unusual tactics to find relief.
warnings: smut, 18+ only, minors dni. descriptions of embalming and body restoration, of grievous mortal injury, grief, mourning. discussion of body dysphoria, chest anxiety. brief talking about being queer and hiding it in the deep south. brief discussion of male body image issues. mutual oral sex (m and afab receiving), brief facefucking, first time as a couple sex, period sex. discussions of the demon living in maxi’s body, for funsies. stalking, breaking and entering, sort of spying on someone in the shower, use of sex toys, size kink, voyeurism, masturbation, slight breeding kink if you squint, minor humiliation kink, maxi is the definition of a service switch, definitely creepy behavior from the serial killer, dead dove do not eat, don’t open the bag if you’re not a slasherfucker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
general: Reader is non-binary/genderqueer, uses they/she pronouns; Reader is plus size, Reader is queer, Maxi is bi and talks about it. Everything else has been left up to the reader, please let me know if I need to tweak any language.
y’all wanna get a little weird with me this spooky season?
(I’ve been writing this one for funsies for a while, but I’m super grateful to the lovely Bree at @the-slasher-files for this delightful opportunity to share this for an event. Sorry mine’s so late, and they definitely won’t all be this long!! :’D Week 2 will hopefully be up later tonight or tomorrow, and I’ll hopefully not be too late with the rest of them lol
okay! here goes!!
Maxi was pretty sure he shouldn’t be thinking of you on top of him last night while he was preparing to embalm the forty-something woman on his table. No, in fact he was certain he shouldn’t. Despite the multiple layers of PPE he was wearing - his usual scrubs, gloves, and mask, and then a plastic splashguard over that - he still caught himself feeling oddly vulnerable in front of the decedent. He was used to empty, staring eyes, he’d been used to them for more than half his life. But something about Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s glazed gaze today made him feel like he was the one with just a sheet for modesty’s sake, rather than the other way around. He kept dropping things, leaving them in his office or on the wrong counters, forgetting what he was doing in the middle of filling out paperwork - he couldn’t help but feel like he was fumbling in an entirely different sense, whereas last night couldn’t have felt easier.
But damn, if you didn’t seem to have him utterly bewitched, and you’d only been going out for a month.
Well, okay, three weeks, six days, thirteen hours, give or take fifteen minutes. …But who was counting, anyway. Certainly not him, nope.
There was something about you he was having a hard time putting his finger on, but since that kismet day in the cemetery, he’d found his mind wandering back to you at the most inexplicable moments. He couldn’t hear the afternoon rain pelting his windows without remembering your smile in the passenger seat of the hearse, giggling even when you were soaked. He couldn’t just lay on his couch in the grip of insomnia and watch a shitty horror movie without remembering your soft, clean scent when you were sitting next to him at the movie theater, and how he’d wondered if the cherry slush would’ve been any sweeter if he’d tasted it on your tongue.
And now, despite the purposeful chill of the prep room, he swore he could still felt the heat of your mostly-bare form pressed against his while it had taken everything in him not to devour you on the spot.
He’d been careful with you. He’d been so goddamn achingly careful with you, wanting to take this slow. He wanted to make sure he took his time with you, didn’t scare you off, didn’t lose your interest before he got the chance to...
He blinked out of his trance when he realized he was still standing over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang with the trocar still in his hands, staring at her still violently bruised and scraped bare abdomen. Motorcycle crash on the highway. Even with a helmet, she hadn’t been any match for the concrete barrier she’d swerved into in her attempt to move around a semi that had thrown on its brakes. The devastated wife was delivering her clothes tomorrow for her viewing this weekend.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he sighed, shaking his head in exasperation and feeling himself blush. “I don’t know where my head’s at today, I swear.” That was a lie. He knew exactly where his head was at.
He heard a ghostly chuckle from the very edge of the salt that bordered the edges of the room — not the sharp, cruel ones of some of the House’s permanent residents, but something soft. Almost knowing. He glanced up to see the faintest flicker of movement near the door, as though a figure had just poked their head in the room and pulled it quickly back out again.
There was sudden wafting of a warm, light scent of jasmine and vanilla… a perfume. Her favorite, her wife had told him through tears in the client parlor upstairs - and Maxi couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he relaxed. It was always a relief to have an understanding guest of honor.
Or, well, as much as they could be, under the circumstances.
“Thank you for bein’ patient with me,” he said, carefully lining up the sharp tip of the instrument with a spot just beside her navel. “Now, this is gonna look nasty, but I promise it’ll be better in just a sec—“
The tip slid through the soft flesh like butter, and he let the trocar do its work before carefully angling it again to perforate the other end of the cavity. With a couple more easy jabs, he set it aside, watching the new wounds attentively before he set to preparing to close what needed closing.
But even as his hands went through the same motions as they had for a little less than two decades, his mind wandered immediately back to you, and the curiously strong effect you’d had on him already. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but he felt like if he slept with you and you ghosted, it would drive him insane for ages afterwards. He’d had friends with benefits before, sure, but they were usually more of an obstacle to work around with his… other nocturnal activities, than something he ended up entertaining for long.
And he wanted more with you, he already knew that. He wanted so much more, so soon, and he was trying his damnedest to be cool about it, but god if you didn’t make it difficult in the best way. How you liked his morbid jokes, and he genuinely laughed at yours, how you didn’t mind his odd hours or his tendency to ramble about various histories of death and decay at the drop of the hat. How curious you seemed about his work, and your compassion for the families he dealt with. How he loved the way you talked about your own day, even if it was something as simple as your side gig, and the care you took with it even when it was frustrating you. He just liked you. All of you.
And he’d been so close to finally getting all of you last night, when the two of you had stumbled into your bedroom after you’d invited him over —
He maybe should’ve guessed something new was afoot when you’d wanted to change plans from actually going out to just staying in for a quiet evening at your place, but he’d been happy just to get to spend time with you, so he hadn’t thought about it too much. It had genuinely started as the two of you goofing around with some multiplayer horror title over pizza, but when you’d teasingly tried to distract him by kissing his neck like you usually did, you lingered there just a touch longer than normal. There was a bit of teeth to it, heat that the two of you had skirted but hadn’t quite explored yet.
Needless to say, he’d immediately dropped his controller to pull you into his lap. You hadn’t protested - to the contrary, you’d straddled his thighs with yours, your hand pulling his shirt collar like a leash to close any distance left.
— Even through the rubber gloves he was wearing now, he swore he could still feel the silk of your skin like fire against his palms. He shook his head again, the trocar wounds closed and now trying to thread the needle so he could sew the dear lady’s mouth closed through the frenulum and up through the septum. But he felt his face burn under his mask as he remembered just how you’d sighed when he’d run his hands up your sides under your top.
Like you were relieved. Like you’d been waiting for him to touch you, almost as much as he’d wanted to.
If you had any idea how hard it had been for him to let you go, especially once he heard that sound, you would’ve called the cops—
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, putting the musculature needle down just a little too hard on the steel table top when he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.
He was instinctively reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses when his hand ran smack into the plastic face shield instead. Frustrated, his swore under his breath, about to fling the offending garment across the room when he heard another gentle laugh from the doorway. He hesitated, then carefully exhaled his frustration in a practiced sigh through his nose, before turning to look over his shoulder. “Well,” he mumbled, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m glad one of us is havin’ fun with this.”
He could see a gentle swirl of white floating in the doorway, like steam out of a shower. For a moment, the swirl changed direction, as though something like a waving hand had interrupted its floating through space.
With this small encouragement, he turned back to the waiting guest, taking another cleansing deep breath. “Get it together, Morvant, christ,” he muttered, tilting his head to both sides to crack his neck before trying again. You had him acting like an amateur in his own house.
This time, he hooked the needle through the needed places as easily as writing his own name.
He still frowned even as he neatly stitched the lips closed, hearing the faintest echo of his father in his head. Not the torso half-corpse chained to the wall downstairs, thank Everything Below. But the version that still loomed large in the crevices of his brain, that still snidely muttered about his every move if he performed his duties less than perfectly.
Mooning over a mortal. Jesus, his father would’ve taken the belt to him for that. Again.
Once he was satisfied with how her mouth lay, he picked up the wax he’d be using to fill some of the rougher contusions on Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s face. With a careful angling of a flat blade to get it out of the jar, he rolled it across the side of his latex-gloved hand, letting it warm itself into something malleable.
You would’ve been worth his father’s wrath, he caught himself thinking. He didn’t know quite how he was so confident yet — the unbearable soon-ness of it haunted him again as he sized up the empty hole the glass shards had left in her cheek — but as he did so, he felt you again, flush against him like you were there in the room.
He’d gotten greedy last night, he knew that, but you’d been right there and so soft, he couldn’t resist. He clenched his free hand through his glove as he remembered the scent of your neck, the lightest hint of some delicious fragrance as he’d taken small, covetous bites of your flesh just to feel you writhe in his grip.
He’d paused his tasting at the neckline of your shirt, sitting back to watch you open your eyes he stopped. “…Can I take this off you?” His hands were still up at your back, holding you close, but he indicated what he meant in the way he passed them over the fabric. The two of you had a tendency to be all over each other in stolen private moments during the brief time you’d been going out: at the House, in the hearse, on his favorite bench in the cemetery. But these had been careful explorations despite your shared enthusiasm, mostly over clothes due to him never being quite sure who - or what - might be lurking nearby. Now, there was no threat of a paranormal pest, or his spectral sister’s looming eyes from the shadows.
It was just you and him, alone at last.
He was too close to you not to see the tiniest hesitation on your part - your teeth briefly grazing your lower lip - before you nodded, your coy smile back in place. “…I’d like to keep what’s under it on, though,” you admitted, your voice soft in how close you were to him. “Is that… Okay?”
“Anythin’s fine by me,” he murmured somewhat hazily, nodding as his hands slid down your sides to your thin top. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, gorgeous.” He savored the feeling of his fingers sliding under the fabric and finding the warmth of your bare skin, curling around its hem, before he glanced up at you one more time to double check.
You nodded again, your eyes bright with anticipation, and that was all it took for him to yank the flimsy fabric over your head.
Maxi sat back slightly, taking in your mostly-bare torso — your soft stomach was adorably sweet, just as he’d imagined. He admired your clavicle, the way it was set into your shoulders, the way your skin looked with all the small marks collected over a life. You were a miracle, a work of art, just like he’d dreamed. He took you in almost ravenously, wanting to memorize every freckle, mole, spot. The small galaxy that was you.
You shifted in his lap, your arms drawing in slightly over the dark garment covering your breasts. He couldn’t help but move his attention there as well, pausing in his awe-struck inspection. That… wasn’t a bra. At least, not one he was familiar with. He was flustered internally for a moment; he knew he hadn’t dated around in a while, but did they really start making them a whole different way when he wasn’t paying attention? He swore he’d just put a regular one on a nice little octogenarian at work the other day; was that considered outmoded now? An antique?
“…It’s a half-binder,” you said softly, snapping his attention abruptly back to your face. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw you looking shyly down at your thighs, anticipation replaced with more hesitancy. “It’s. Um— It’s for when—“
“Oh, no, that’s not—“ Maxi stumbled and nearly bit his own tongue, cursing himself for interrupting you. But he was desperate for you to understand how much he was only looking at you with wonder, not with second thoughts. He wanted to curl into himself in agony at the mere thought of you having such a notion.
But the way you looked immediately back to him made him think you were almost more nervous than he was, rather than annoyed, and he felt a flash of protective fondness at the expression on your face.
“I— It’s okay,” he soothed, nodding. He reached up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed your jaw line. “It’s fine,” he reassured you again, smiling at you. “That’s all okay, baby. I only looked concerned because… well,” he paused, feeling his own face warm slightly. “I thought they’d gone and changed how they made bras on me, s’all.”
Your uncertainty was punctured by your surprised laugh, and he immediately felt relieved at the return of your smile, even as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to do anything that would make you think he was less than… capable, of taking care of you. But he was only being honest.
“No,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re sweet. No, this is a different thing.” You shook your head. “It’s… um.” The shyness crept back into your face, and as much as he wanted to reassure you again, he made himself wait for what you wanted to say. “…Okay, so,” you said slowly, letting out a breath that shook a little around the edges. “Sometimes, um. I have some presentation issues around my…” You paused like there was something stuck in your throat, instead gesturing to your chest under your binder. “And I don’t… really want to have them there. Or out. Or, like…” Your hand clawed for a moment in frustration as you tried to explain. “I just don’t want them to be a focus?” you managed at last, a sigh on the heel of your words. “I don’t know, sometimes I’m fine with them! I mean— Obviously,” you gestured shyly to Maxi, who immediately recalled every time he’d pulled down your neckline to nip at the top of your breasts greedily, on his couch during a bad movie, or against the wall of a crypt during a cemetery walk.
“I’m… very familiar, yes,” he agreed, smiling even as he felt the heat in his cheeks.
Your smile in return reassured him, and he watched the tension in you ease. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, and he had to fight not to shiver pleasurably at the contact. “I just… today was a bad chest day, is all.” You bit your lip again, clearly still somewhat nervous about this. “And I was just, um. I thought we might… and if I- I flinched, or something, I didn’t want you to think… it was you, or anything. Because it’s not. It never would be.“ You looked down at your thighs again as you trailed off, your hands sliding to his shoulders. “It’s just - this thing my brain does sometimes, and I don’t always know when.”
Maxi was trying too hard not to get stuck on the fact that you had implied you’d never flinch from him, from his touch, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest with muffled excitement. He had been trying to slow down just how hard he’d been falling for you lately, but you weren’t making it easy. You didn’t know, you didn’t know, he reminded himself sternly. He couldn’t take it entirely at face value if he knew what he was hiding from you, and you didn’t.
And ideally, he thought to himself, you never… would. Not completely, anyway.
Because there’s no way you’d stay if you knew what he was, was there?
Realizing he’d been still too long, been too quiet, his hands went to your hips and squeezed affectionately. “Hey.” He waited until you met his eyes to roll his shoulders in a slow, lazy shrug, smiling up at you. “I’m just happy to be here with you like this, darlin’,” he said, his tone hushed again as he ran his hands up your bare sides. “Really. That’s all. Whatever you don’t wanna do, or— don’t want me to touch,” His hands stopped a respectful couple of finger widths away from your binder. “We don’t have to, at all. Okay?” He shifted a little, going to loosen his tie out of habit before realizing he’d already taken it off and left it in the hearse before he walked in. He flattened his lips instinctively into a line for a moment, his eyes wandering off to the side as he realized what he wanted to tell you right now.
It wasn’t The Thing, but it something he didn’t discuss often, that was for damn sure.
“You’re sure?”
He looked immediately back to you, and realized you’d been watching his face. Your eyes were careful, searching - veiled, he noticed with a hint of panic. You must’ve thought his hesitation was about you, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“Yes,” he said immediately, nodding vigorously. “Yes, angel, absolutely.” He tapped his fingers where they rested on your skin. “Your boundaries are yours. I’m not about to want anythin’ you tell me you don’t, I swear.” He smiled at you again, feeling a little nervous now. “I was just… you got me thinkin’, is all.”
You blinked, your eyes lightening a little bit as you tilted your head. “Oh yeah?”
Maxi nodded, wetting his lips out of nervous habit. “I…” He hummed quietly, trying to figure out how to word this, exactly. He cleared his throat a little, before looking back to you. “…You, um.” He swallowed. “…On our first date,” he finally said, forcing himself to meet your eyes. “I saw your, um. Your pride pins. On your bag, and all. And then, of course, you told me ‘they’ worked for you, obviously,” he added quickly, realizing he was just talking in circles. “So I just… god,” he sighed in frustration, his head falling backwards against the couch to stare at your ceiling. “Why is this hard.”
“…I could state the obvious,” you deadpanned, still straddling his lap.
There was a pause, and Maxi half-shrugged. “You’d have a point.”
He met your eyes again, and the both of you dissolved into muffled laughter, the tension at last broken.
“What are you trying to say, Maxi?” you asked when you’d both got it out of your system, tilting your head the other way to catch his eyes again.
Maxi sighed, looking up at where you were perched on his lap. “What I’m tryin’ to say,” he said quietly, forcing it out now. “Is that… me too?”
You blinked, your brow crinkling. “…You ‘too’?”
Maxi groaned, running one hand under his glasses over his face. “You’re gonna have to forgive me, Darlin’, old habits die hard.” He gave you an apologetic smile. “I mean… I have to be a little more careful about, y’know… who knows, and all,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the room to indicate Greymoon as a whole. He swallowed again, not sure why his heart was racing, why his palms felt like they were going to sweat. You of all people were someone he knew he could tell this to and be safe. So why did this still scare him? “I, um.” He felt himself flushing furiously, looking at you and mentally begging you to understand. “…If I could wear ‘em, y’know, and not get shit for it with my… my job, and all,” he said quietly. “I know we’d have at least one of ‘em in common.” He let out a quick, slightly unsteady breath. “I don’t say this to make things about me,” he said quickly again, his words tripping over themselves. “…But because I really want you to know, there’s nothin’ you could do, or change about yourself, or how you present, or anythin’, that would make me… not attracted to you,” he explained quietly. “Does that make sense?”
Your eyes visibly brightened when you beamed at him, clearly relieved - and, if he dared let himself believe it, even elated. “Yes,” you said, nodding excitedly. “Yes, it totally makes sense.” You leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. “I fucking knew it,” you added in a triumphant whisper, your smile delighted, before you closed the distance and kissed him intensely.
In that moment, Maxi was suddenly intensely aware of the feeling of something… else, looking out through his eyes at you.
Something that wanted you - to drink the light from your eyes until there was nothing left - with such a desperate ferocity, he could swear the scream was audible inside his own skull.
Startled by this unbidden urge, he broke this shared kiss abruptly, pressing a messy kiss to your pulse in your throat. External sensation tended to help shut the Reaper up or drown it out, and you gave him plenty of that: the softness of your skin, the scent you wore in your hair, the surprised noise from low in your chest that turned into a barely-muffled mewl. He lingered there, drawing it out, feeling you squirm on his lap as your hands found his hair again and tried to tug him upward. He winced only slightly, seemingly determined to leave his unmistakable mark on the precious column of your neck, but internally he was running a panicked inventory. After decades of being aware of the Reaper, the demon that had made him its home, he thought he’d gotten a good handle on just what could set it off. Sure, it had made noises about liking you, especially the more you hung around. It had done that with everyone he’d dated, as inescapable as it was. It was a jealous, territorial sumbitch, but so was he, deep down, so he couldn’t really blame it.
But that fascination, that need… what the fuck was that? Demanding as his darker self was, it had never been that… specific. Blood, flesh, souls, the usual maudlin bullshit, sure, he was used to it railing and howling and carrying on as it called for what it believed was its Due. Sometimes for sleepless nights on end, when he was younger and trying to fight his true nature.
But wanting you? Specifically, to watch the life drain from your face? To feel your flesh grow cold under his palms?
He had the unavoidable mental image of something else wearing his face, running a tongue over too-sharp teeth in his mouth, and he couldn’t fight a shudder.
Before he could really figure out what had triggered the spike of aggression, however, you’d turned the tables, yanking slightly on his hair so you could capture his lips when he reluctantly let go of your throat. Your hands moved to unbutton the dress shirt he’d worn having come straight from closing up, and he felt you pause when you got so far down, then the twist of your smile against his mouth as your hand found his shirt stays still on once you unbuttoned his slacks.
“Aw, Maxi - for me?” As much as you were trying to tease, he could hear how you sounded slightly breathless, your fingers shy as they skimmed over the elastic.
His face positively burned, and he wondered if you could feel its warmth, as close as you were. “Well,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to quite meet your gaze. “You mentioned that you, um. Didn’t mind, last time—“
“No,’ you corrected softly, and he looked up immediately. You were fighting a grin as you toyed with the one on his left thigh, before your eyes flicked back to his. “I said I thought they were hot, remember?” You gave him a coy smirk. “That’s different.”
He had to remember to swallow just then, the Reaper well and truly quiet as his brain was too overloaded to process much else besides your expression and your fingers tracing along the inside of his thighs. With some maneuvering, you had his shirt open a moment later, your hands roving over the coarse hair on his torso.
Something else he couldn’t help but adore about you, besides the enchantingly warm squish of your figure against him, was the way you seemed just as taken with him as he did with you in that aspect. Lord knew why — he knew he was that slightly confusing mix of lean with a soft stomach, and he still didn’t know how to feel about that even now — but it was also the way you didn’t seem to flinch at any of his scars. Namely and especially the thick line of tissue over his heart, where his father had beat him to the punch and drawn first blood all those years ago, and where he’d painstakingly re-opened it not long after, trying a particularly dark bit of magic in attempt to dull his own pain.
As he’d held you last night in his arms, feeling your warm palm ghost over it with all the sweetness in the world, he was so bitterly glad that it had backfired - and not as badly as it had for his late sister.
“I want you.” You’d said it so softly, your lips brushing his, that it nearly broke him. “Please?”
“I’m yours.” He’d answered as automatically as breathing, and for a moment he’d felt at least a fraction of the blood rush back to his face, realizing just how… eager, he must have sounded. But you’d only laughed in that way that left him weak every time, and when he’d shifted underneath you to kiss you harder, it had hitched into the sweetest breathy moan when his cock pressed against the core of you through the cotton shorts you’d worn.
“Goddamn, Maxi,” you’d whispered, pulling away to glance down between the two of you, and it was everything he could do not to let himself smirk. You’d turned it right back on him though when your eyes met his again with what was unmistakably hunger. “You gonna wreck me with that, babe, or just make me suck on it?”
He’d heard the soft hissing inhale through his teeth before he even realized it was him, his hand gently settling over your throat. Even as he held it like it was made of glass, he still felt himself freeze, realizing he hadn’t asked you first. He watched your eyes, nervously retracting his hand just slightly to hover above your skin — only to relax when he saw the entertained glint there, and the way you tilted your chin back to grant him access.
He replaced his hand delicately, his thumb lovingly tracing the vein he knew lay just underneath your skin from years of filling others with formaldehyde. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, sugar,” he’d murmured darkly, unable to help himself. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give me ideas.”
This was apparently the right thing to say, because you’d shoved your neck further into his palm as you’d kissed him furiously, grinding your cunt against his length as you did so.
He’d had to will himself to keep at least a modicum of self-control, both hands falling to your hips and pulling you harder against him to hear you gasp. As he felt the faintest trace of heat and slick through the thin garment of your underwear, his grip turned to steel, fighting the urge to yank away the meaningless little fabric between the pair of you and push into you to give you what you wanted — what he wanted, if he was being honest, just to feel you clench around him in any capacity. When he heard your gasp change to a soft, tremulous moan as you moved again, it took everything in him to force himself to let go of your waist.
“Your room.” He’d blurted it before he realized quite what he was doing, and you’d blinked at him, your eyes already sweetly hazy. “…Please,” he added, swallowing slightly. “I want to-- I need to do this right.” He pressed a soft kiss to your jawline, hoping he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. “I wanna do this like you deserve.” If this was going to go how he thought, he wanted to make sure it mattered. That even if it was all he ever got, he could say he’d gotten to really savor all of you while he’d had it ever so briefly in his grasp.
Your laugh was shaky but real, and you tilted your head to kiss him again (and, unbeknownst to you, muffle his sigh of relief). “You fucking angel, you’re so sweet,” you’d murmured, kissing his mouth and his cheek and the tip of his nose in quick succession. “C’mon.” You’d stepped backwards onto your floor, grabbing his hands to pull him up with you, and the two of you had only run into a chair and one wall when you couldn’t be bothered to look up from refusing to let go of the other person.
Maxi had been over to your house enough times that it wasn’t too odd how well he could pick his way through your living room, and then your hallway. Luckily, by the time he was walking you backwards to your bed, you were too busy nipping his lower lip and gripping the back of his neck to notice just how well he could navigate across your somewhat messy floor, sidestepping you carefully around things he logically shouldn’t have already known were there.
But he’d gotten very well acquainted with your floor in the last couple of weeks. And the space under your bed, which if he was being honest, was more comfortable than most, if only for the rug underneath and the lack of perilous storage boxes he’d have to contort himself to fit around. It would’ve been downright homey, comparatively, if he wasn’t constantly in danger of knocking his head on your bed frame if he sat up too quickly.
In that moment, he’d been beyond thrilled to be with you on top of your mattress as the two of you fell towards it. He was more than happy to be pinned beneath your full hips, his hands caressing your sides, and feeling you push yourself against his cock already leaking into his clothes as you sought any sort of friction between the two of you. This was more than agreeable. If you wanted to ride him until he couldn’t remember his own name, that would be divine. There would be plenty of time after to fuck you into your mattress until you ruined your sheets, he had all night.
Your fingers had finally hooked into the open waistband of his slacks when suddenly you hissed a curse under your breath, withdrawing so abruptly he was left bewilderedly blinking at your ceiling for a moment.
“Gorgeous?” He sat up to see where you’d pulled back, your expression at once stricken and frustrated. “What’s wrong- you okay?” He felt himself snap out of his own blissful trance, looking you over for any immediate obvious cause of distress. “…Is it somethin’ I did?” He swore he’d just been laying here savoring the taste of your tongue - did he miss something obvious? Had he been careless, distracted? The latter had made him panic even more, wondering if the dark presence inside him had somehow made itself known when he had his guard down.
“No,” you shook your head quickly, pressing your lips together in a slightly aggravated line. “No, baby, it’s not you.” You sighed heavily, sitting back and crossing your legs as you looked… embarrassed? You bit your own lower lip hard for a moment, clearly annoyed with something, before you glanced at him from under your lashes. “…My uterus has the worst fucking timing, is all.” You have him a rueful grimace, wincing slightly as you did so.
Maxi felt himself exhale a laugh in relief, his fear immediately abating. “Oh, babydoll - is that all? Hell, I don’t care.” He shrugged, his shoulders suddenly immeasurably light compared to a second ago. “Or — wait, shit, hold on.” He caught himself a second too late, blushing slightly at his own phrasing and quickly running his palm over his face under his glasses. Smooth, dumbass. “I mean,” he said, showing you his palms apologetically. “That I don’t mind. But obviously,” he gestured to you. “I don’t wanna do anything that would make you… uncomfortable.” He gave you a smile meant to be genuinely soothing, but only relaxed when he saw you let out a breath you’d seemed to be holding.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You rolled your eyes, falling on your back next to him with an exaggerated sigh. He immediately stretched out next to you, determined to be as close to you as possible while he had the chance. You were always a vision, to him, but stripped down like this, you were something he wanted to treasure. “I tend to be really… sore, later, after my first day. Like, ‘hurts to sit down’ sore, sometimes.” You rolled onto your side, and your fingertip traced a soft line down his chest and stomach that stopped just above the exposed fabric of his boxers. He suppressed a visible shiver as best he could, but it was a struggle. “And based on what you’re packing, babe,” you said, your eyes flicking downward before meeting his and causing him to forget to breathe for a moment. “I don’t think I’m going to be quite able to handle it all tonight. Which sucks,” you added, with an embarrassed giggle. “Because if I’m being totally honest with you, I was really looking forward to it.” You have him a small, shy smile that still felt somehow conspiratorial.
Jesus, you were going to kill him. He was going to die right there in your bed from the sheer thought that you’d wanted him as much as he’d pined after you.
He took a breath as subtly as he could, trying not to give away that you’d about knocked it all out of him. “Don’t worry about it.” He reached over, lightly moving some of your hair away from your eyes. “Again, I don’t want to do anythin’ you don’t want to do. Right now, later, whenever.” He smiled, admiring your bare stomach and thighs in the soft light of your bedroom window, how the beginnings of the blue hour reflected just a certain way off your skin. You were already lovely from his place in the dark, but out here with you? Where you’d wanted him to see you? “You’ve got me as long as you want me.” His eyes had met yours again, taking in how those shone as well, how he wished he could see them in this light more often.
“But I really do want you, though,” you said with just a hint of a whine, and when you leaned in to kiss him again, it was everything he could do not to roll and pin you down so he could kiss you everywhere, slowly and deliberately. You moved closer to him on your mattress, your hand skimming lower over clothes that now felt far too tight. “Can I… help with this, at all?” —
Maxi swore softly to himself as he mis-aligned the apple of the decedent’s cheek again, impatiently picking up the clay and re-rolling it into what it would’ve looked like if half of it hadn’t been ground off onto the hot concrete of the highway once the visor of the helmet had been smashed out.
“I swear I can do this,” he said over his shoulder, still smelling the hint of perfume. “I’m just… havin’ a day, is all. You know how it is.”
He paused, looking back down at the face he was working on restoring and feeling slightly mortified with himself. “I mean, of course you do. Of course. I’m so sorry, that was thoughtless of me. I’m - I’m just gonna shut up now,” he muttered, furiously re-rolling the clay in his hands to try to change the texture.
When he felt the tiniest ‘thump’ against his shoulder blade, like a heavy palm lightly clapping him on the back, he about jumped out of his skin.
— As cool as you were trying to be about it, he could hear just the slightest hesitancy in your voice still, and he could’ve died at the idea you thought he would still say no to you. “I…” His face felt almost drunkenly warm as he tried desperately to get his brain to work with him here, overwhelmed with just how long he’d ached for you to touch him at all, the warmth of your flesh threatening to scorch his normally cool skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to? I—“ He forgot what words were for a second as he felt your hand move again, your fingertips skimming the skin above the waistband between the pair of you. “I’d wanna be able to reciprocate, somehow,” he managed, forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “However, um—“ Oh, you’d been positively teasing him then, sliding his trousers down as slowly as possible while you watched his face. Your expression was sweet, your lips parted just slightly as if in innocent curiosity, but he could still see that light in your eyes that told him you knew exactly what you were doing. “However you feel comfortable,” he said, buying himself time by gently taking your hand in his. “I don’t want this to just be about me.” He couldn’t have imagined anything more agonizing than you touching him and him not being able to touch you. It just wasn’t how he was built. He kissed the back of your hand, and the wickedness in your eyes liquified into something soft. “Please?”
You bit your lip thoughtfully, considering. He knew what it was to be vulnerable with someone new - to be even more vulnerable than you’d maybe expected, in your case. He gazed at you earnestly, hoping you would see that he was already devoted, there was nothing about your body that could scare him, because it was yours, and at this rate, he was as good as.
“…Okay,” you said at last, and he couldn’t help but beam when you smiled a little at his enthusiasm. “But only whatever you’re cool with. Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate in exactly the same way, if you don’t want to.”
“Try me.” Maxi said, quirking a brow in a playful challenge.
“Oh, I intend to,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth before dipping lower to trace the scar over his heart with the white-hot tip of your tongue.
Maxi fought to keep his surprised inhale from being too obvious as you did so, feeling his already present blush turn into a full flush down his neck and shoulders. He’d been with other people, sure, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seemed to… savor that part of him, quite like you were.
But of course you’d caught that. You looked up quickly, meeting his eyes with a furrow of concern. “Sorry,” you said softly, your eyes flicking between his and his scar. “I- should I not—?”
“It’s fine,” he reassured you, kissing your cheek hastily. “You’re fine, sugar, I’m just… not used to that, s’all.” His fingertips ghosted down the line of your jaw, watching your brows ease apart. “…People tend to avoid it,” he explained quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile and a shrug of his shoulder.
You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced sheepishly down again. “I should’ve asked first, I know, I just—“ You lifted a hand, your fingers ghosting over the ridge of tissue you’d just claimed with your tongue, and Maxi found himself not only enjoying the feeling, but leaning into it as much as he dared. “…I just figured, it’s you,” you murmured, your eyes finding his again. “And I-“ You broke off, teeth grazing your lip self-consciously like you were fighting a laugh at yourself. “I want that too.”
Maxi sat up with an abruptness that drew a small squeak from you, lifting you so you were straddling his lap now. One hand tangled in your hair as he kissed you hard, the other hand squeezing your hip with a need he was sure gave away just how desperate he was for you—
He slammed down the clay knife a little harder than he meant to on the steel table surface, cussing up a storm under his breath as he failed for a third time to get it shaped exactly how he needed it over the partially exposed gums. “Come on,” he growled, not sure if he was more annoyed with his lack of focus or embarrassed at just how completely you’d invaded his every sense, leaving him stumbling like an apprentice on their first day.
Probably even moreso, given just how long he’d been helping shape flesh back into faces before it was entirely legal for him to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, straightening up and folding his gloved hands behind his head. He turned away, unable to quite face the woman he was making a fool of himself in front of on his on table. “I swear, this has never happened before, really. I’m absolutely gonna have you lookin’ right as rain for your viewin’, I promise, I’m just… feelin’ a bit off, today.” He gave a long, slow exhale, one that shook just a little bit around the edges. He had to focus. He had to try. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this hundreds of times.
But you — you were something new. He’d never had to work with someone like you in his head, before.
And it seemed to be having the worst time trying to hold his infatuation and his professionalism in the same amount of space.
— His brain immediately returned to how you’d kissed him back with just as much eagerness, your teeth nipping his lower lip, and when his tongue had filled your mouth, you sucked on it in a way that went straight to the base of his spine.
“PleasecanItaketheseoffyou?” he’d asked in a single breath as he broke away, his fingers hooking impatiently into the cotton lounge shorts you were still wearing.
You looked shy again. “Um. I’m not—“ You sat there for a second, choosing your words. “I’m not wearing a lot underneath,” you mumbled. “I thought I still had a day or so, and I wouldn’t want to—“ You gestured loosely at the white dress shirt he still had hanging loosely about his shoulders, more off than on at this point.
Maxi pressed another messy kiss to the side of your neck, emboldened and secretly thrilled by the idea that you’d been planning ahead for this. That you’d wanted to, been hoping for it maybe as much as he had. “I don’t mind,” he said against your skin, and he felt your head fall back slightly as he kissed down to the crook of your shoulder. “I swear to god I don’t mind, there’s no part of this I don’t mind, I promise you—“
“Okay,” you half-breathed, half-giggled in his ear, and you got your knees under you to hover over his waist just as he pulled down, finding the black mesh waiting for him underneath.
“Baby,” he nearly whined at the sight, his hands moving covetously over the curve of your ass as he admired you. “Fuck, you’re pretty. You always are, of course,” he added quickly, looking up at you where you were still perched up over him on your knees. “Of course I knew that, but— fuck,” he repeated, his hands moving up your plush hips and your soft sides adoringly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You giggled in a way that went right to his chest. “Calm down, Monsieur, you’ve already got me naked,” you teased, still looking a bit shy.
He hooked his arms around your waist, pulling your stomach flush to his chest where he was somewhat pinned under you. “I mean it,” he whispered, and he watched your face change - the self-conscious half-smile falling away at what must be the sheer dark intensity of his gaze. “You have no idea how much I want you. Just like this.”
He was sure his eyes would have changed, the way he was looking at you. He couldn’t always feel it when they did, but the yowling ache of Want inside him as he looked at you like this, for him — you had to have to seen it. There’s no way you could have seen him and missed it, the way he wanted you all to himself, folded into his arms against the dark that threatened to swallow him up when he thought of being parted from you.
He knew it was scary, especially so soon. It scared him too, in a way. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d unwound yourself from his grasp right then and thrown him out.
…But, miracle of miracles, you hadn’t.
You’d watched his eyes with a tilt of your head, transfixed by what, he wasn’t totally sure, but your stare was curious - and, eventually, oddly familiar. He saw it then, that flicker of pure Want, not quite as sharp or dark as his own. But it had been there as you looked down at him, your hands lightly carding through his hair… before one set of fingers tangled in it, scraping ever so lightly at his scalp.
That dark presence in him - something that had no business being so close to you, especially not this quickly - crowed in triumph in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time.
You leaned down, catching his lips in yours, and he met you with a kiss that bordered on ravenous. He couldn’t help the sound that escaped him when you gave another careful, experimental tug at his hair — which blossomed into a full moan when you’d pulled harder, eliminating what space there’d been still between you.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded as you broke away, the pair of you panting slightly as though you were starved for air. “What can I do for you?”
“…Those all the way off,” you said softly, nodding down at his open slacks as your tongue traced your lips - which, he’d noticed, had begun to look just the tiniest bit swollen with his attentions.
He let go of you only long enough to fumble with them and the accompanying underwear, unable to help the slightest of smirks when your own hands had dropped to help him when you decided he wasn’t quite moving fast enough for you. He’d been appreciative of every display of your enthusiasm so far, but the need he’d felt crackling between the pair of you at that moment had been undeniable.
Maxi slid them off with your help, immediately pulling you back against him as soon as they rustled to your bedroom floor. He was trying to keep his breathing level as he felt you finally skim your palm lightly over his cock, and he couldn’t help but glance down to see you sizing it up.
“Damn, Maxi,” you murmured, glancing back to watch his face as you took it fully in hand. He bit down hard on his lip as you spread the drops that were already waiting there over the head, trying not to be so obvious in how much he’d been wanting you to touch him. “Were you planning on making sure I couldn’t walk tomorrow?”
He opened his mouth to answer, only to have the words tangle into something somewhat incoherent when he watched you move down his abdomen to lick a long, hot stripe towards his hips.
The pressure at the base of his spine was taking over the rest of his brain, and all he wanted was the heat of you around him, wishing he could do exactly as you said.
“Depends on what you wanted, pretty,” he managed through his teeth, feeling his fingers dig into his own palms.
“Oh yeah?” You glanced up at him, moving so your torso was perched gently on his thighs. You ran a fingertip lightly up the inside of one, smirking a little as he obviously squirmed.
Maxi forced himself to nod. “I swear I could— be careful,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he watched you lick your own palm lasciviously. “I wouldn’t hurt you, I promise—“
“Unless I wanted you to?”
He knew you felt him flex in your palm in response. It was too obvious. He said nothing, looking from where his cock was aching, leaking in your hand to your eyes, where you were watching his face with such a dark glitter to them that he had to fight to keep his hips still in response.
“…Okay,” you said slowly, your smile enigmatic. “Good to know.”
Oh, shit. He was a goner now.
You didn’t say much else, your hand twisting up his shaft and gripping just enough to make him inhale raggedly. You gave him a couple of experimental strokes, watching still before your mouth was around him, and he had to fight to keep his shit together.
“Fuck.” His hands tangled hard into your bedspread, trying to keep himself grounded through this onslaught. He’d kissed you a million times by now - he couldn’t help himself when you were around - and just like then, you were slow, deliberate. Taking your time with him because you seemed to like keeping him right on the line of agony and bliss. He felt the softest puff of air, like a suppressed laugh, and when he looked down he felt everything inside him seize at the way you were watching him, your eyes mischievous as he saw a thread of saliva trace its way from your lower lip down his shaft.
He fell back against your pillow with a moan, forcing himself to look away for a moment so he could keep from totally embarrassing himself with you. You had no right to look that perfect with your mouth on him like that. His fist knitted tighter into your comforter, until he felt the soft touch of your hand on his - looking down, he let you gently pull his hand away from your bed and set it in your hair, holding it there for a second as if to reassure him before your hand returned to pinning his hips to your mattress.
Tentatively, he curled his hand in your hair, not wanting to pull hard enough to hurt. He relished the feeling of its familiar texture, something he’d come to love in the time the two of you had spent on the couch with your head on his shoulder. He was just willing himself to be gentle when he heard the quietest noise, and it was only when he felt a shift in your mouth that he realized you’d taken him deeper.
He pulled hard on your hair reflexively, gasping at the change, at the soft sound of you fighting to take him into your throat. “Fuck, angel, you don’t have to...” He looked down at you, and the slight glaze of tears at the corner of your eyes made him forget himself so entirely, he felt his hips thrust forward before he could stop himself.
If you hadn’t been ready for him, he would’ve hated himself for being so careless with you. But you met his worried eyes with something of a challenge, your tongue tracing the underside of his shaft invitingly, and something dark in him delighted at the mirror it seemed to find in you.
Experimentally, Maxi thrust up again, and when he could feel you fighting to control your breath, he wound his fingers tighter in your hair and pulled.
Your moan couldn’t have been more exquisite, and Maxi at last let himself give in.
He wasn’t a monster - his thrusts were tempered, short, but he lost himself in the feeling of you around him: the warmth of your mouth, the soft ragged puffs of your breath, the spit that dripped from your lips. With the lovely wreck you made, and the way he felt you carefully take the rest of him in your hand to make sure no part was neglected, he found himself falling apart fairly soon.
“Darlin’,” he whined, glancing down at you through the now lightly fogged lenses of his glasses. “I can’t take this, I’m— I’m close, I have to—“
It was the way your eyes locked on his and the subtle shake of your head that finally sent him over. The sharp, clear gaze you gave him, the way you made it clear he was doing this your way. That this was something of his that you wanted for yourself.
He came with a shaky groan of your name, feeling the tiniest bit guilty he did so alone, but unwilling to deny how much he loved watching you as he did.
When you finally sat back, gasping, he sat up and immediately crushed his lips to yours like a man possessed, his hands gently cupping your face. He could taste just a trace of himself still on your tongue, and everything that just happened crashed over him at once, turning his kiss nearly feral.
Even through catching your breath, you giggled again at his eagerness, and he knew immediately he would fight a pissed-off alligator for you if it ever came to that. Two alligators. Possessed ones. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t face for that sound.
“So you enjoyed yourself then,” you teased, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’d hoped so.”
“You were divine,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss your bare neck like a man called to worship. “I mean - I already thought so,” he added. “But that was…” He felt his brain go pleasantly blank again, distracted by whatever scent you were wearing on your skin.
You smiled under his praise, but there was the tiniest hint of relief in your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages, to be honest.” You leaned forward, kissing the end of his nose as he blinked at you in surprise. “I knew you’d be hot when you weren’t totally together. Not that you’re not hot when you’re put together,” you continued, seeing his eyebrows begin to knit together. “I mean, I’ve been wanting you to rail me in those suits of yours for ages, obviously.” You waved a hand as if this were, in fact, obvious, despite Maxi having a very distinct hiccup of brain activity at the mere thought. “But you’re always so… poised, Maxi,” you said, your hands lovingly coming to rest on his now-bare chest. “I know you have to be, with everything that can go wrong with what you do,” you went on, and he had to keep his face neutral at just how close to the truth that came. “But I’ve been… curious,” you leaned forward, your lips an inch from his as you searched his eyes. “About what I’d see when you finally let go for me.”
Maxi watched you apprehensively as you reached up and ruffled the hair that sweat had undone. You fixated on it slowly sliding over one of his lenses, where it was naturally inclined to lay when he didn’t attack it with hair gel and a comb every day, and after a moment, you sat back with a smirk. “I have to say, baby, I really like it.”
You weren’t totally prepared for when he moved forward suddenly, capturing you in a kiss while flipping you beneath him. He delighted at the soft moan around his tongue in your mouth, only pulling back to hover over you when you were both absolutely out of breath. “If I wanted to make you come so hard you can’t think straight,” he whispered, dark eyes boring into yours. “What’s the best way I could do that right now?”
He watched the coquettish set of your face dissolve into a mixture of surprise from his phrasing and - what he was far more excited by - open, undeniable need. Your teeth grazed your lower lip hard, but he got the feeling that you weren’t having to think about it. No, this seemed more like you were hesitating.
“Try me,” he repeated, more insistant now. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then kissed you properly, coaxing you into something more heated. He lingered until he felt you relax a bit, opening up to him, before he pulled back just enough to speak. “I mean it, anythin’.”
Your guard was down, because he saw your eyes move briefly towards where his hips were resting against yours, your back arching very slightly to rock gently against his hipbone in search of any sort of contact. But they snapped back to his immediately, widening when you must’ve realized you’d given yourself away.
“You a hundred percent do not have to reciprocate,” you blurted, your words tripping off your tongue in your hurry. “Especially not, like, today,” you added with an apologetic wince. “Obviously. I’m not about to ask you to— well.“ You looked askance, embarrassed. “Not our, um. Our first… time, and all.”
Maxi snorted, smiling wryly. “Babydoll. C’mon, now.” He propped himself up on an elbow, cocking his head to look at you. “What, did you think I was gonna try to dodge that every month? Twiddle my thumbs ’til it was over?”
You met his eyes again, yours wide - and Maxi realized he’d tilted his hand, hinting at anything remotely close to a future together this soon. He opened his mouth to backtrack, kicking himself for being so presumptuous - when you looked off to the side again, giving a tiny shrug. “I didn’t want to assume or anything,” you said, smiling shyly. “Some people just aren’t into it.”
He managed to disguise a sigh of relief as a chuckle, realizing you weren’t automatically discouraging the idea of a… repeat engagement. Hell, that you didn’t even seem to be that put off by the thought of him sticking around. “Well. I appreciate your lookin’ out,” he said, tilting his head further to meet your eyes. “But trust me when I say there’s nothin’ about you I’m not into.”
You laughed, disbelieving, but there was a curiosity in your eyes that, when he saw it, he couldn’t look away from. “Define ‘into’ here, babe.”
Maxi sat up a little more, skimming your torso with a rakish glance. “Put it this way,” he drawled, leaning down to kiss just underneath the elastic of your top. “When you do what I do, there isn’t much about the human body you don’t learn to appreciate, in its own way.” He ran the broad swathe of his tongue down the curve of your stomach as he moved lower, causing you to inhale through your teeth and squirm slightly. He trapped your plush hips in his hands, fingers nimbly spreading and adjusting to hold you down against your mattress. His thumbs worked their way under the waist of the pretty sheer underwear you’d worn - for him, he thought with an eager twist of his insides - down over the skin, as though he were unveiling you. “There’s nothin’ I don’t find more beautiful than somethin’ alive just bein’ allowed to be itself.” He kissed your lower abdomen with parted lips, his teeth grazing lightly below your navel just to hear your gentle sound of surprise, to feel you try to move against his palms… and find you couldn’t break his grip. He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at your face, or help the grin that was just a touch too sharp when your eyes were already hazy and huge. “…And it’d be a sin,” he added quietly. “For you to feel like you had anythin’ to be shy about.” He held your gaze as he shifted his hands to your thighs, letting you watch as he pulled them a little wider, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh.
He waited for a response from you - the barest nod, given with only a short dazed lag - before he settled his torso between them, his thumbs tracing the velvet of your skin. He planted an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each, just adjacent to your cunt, with all the slow measured movements of a ritual. He took the opportunity to adjust his grip again, his right hand shifting slightly upward to mitigate the jolt of your hips, his left staying anchored to your thigh as he continued to rub circles there.
He didn’t know what his eyes were doing when he looked at you a last time, but he could feel the Reaper poised just behind their sockets, unable to resist the proximity of something so vulnerable and precious. He didn’t bother to try to knock it back - it liked this too, too much to ruin it for both of them.
He’d let it watch, it didn’t matter.
Pleasing you would be something that would strictly fall to him. He’d make sure of that.
His eyes flicked downwards, seeing you were already visibly wet - something that sent another searing jolt through him - and there, as though a sign, the beginning bloom of red.
When he swiped his tongue brazenly up your slit, pushing into your folds, the moan you let go from your chest hit him at the same time as the unmistakable taste of blood.
He fell on you like a man starved, pulling your thighs even wider to spread you for him. He felt suddenly insatiable, taken in by your heat, the way you shivered on his tongue, and couldn’t help but cant your hips just slightly upwards to allow himself better access.
You made a sound of surprise that turned into a mewl, your thighs pushing slightly against the side of his face and his palm as though to keep him there, and he felt himself grin wickedly as he continued giving you exactly what he’d wanted to since that first encounter in the cemetery.
In the midst of the familiar human essence, the iron across his palate, there was something that left the vague impression of… sweetness. He chased it, lingering on your clit to lave the flat of his tongue there like a wave. He heard your moan twist into a whine, and he couldn’t resist the urge to echo it, his cheekbone scraping the inside of your thigh as he unashamedly lapped at your core. Your slick spreading across his mouth and further left him wanting, and as his hands clenched at your body with need, yours fell to his hair.
He couldn’t help the moan at the feeling of your nails against his scalp, the way he was sure you didn’t realize just how hard you were pulling. He had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling back as you tugged hard, your hips pushing against his mouth for more. He didn’t know which got him to start rutting lightly against your mattress, the little licks of pain or the way he was tempted to just let you grind against his jaw until you were done with him.
“F-fuck,” you groaned, your first actual word in a while, and it came from somewhere low in your chest. This was beyond the breathy noises of a first time, what people thought the other person wanted to hear or expected. There was a rawness as your groan became something strangled, your voice breaking, and when your heel very lightly came to rest on his back, his nails sank into your skin before he could stop himself.
“Fuck, Maxi, I’m—!” You punctuated that sentence with a keening cry as you came apart, and he held his tongue steady against your clit when your hips spasmed against his face. Your heel dug further into his back, and your hands knotted in his hair as evidence of your orgasm coated his tastebuds. He drove his own hips hard against your bed as you shuddered, already inescapably aware that he wouldn’t know peace again until he could have you making a mess on his cock too.
But this was more than enough, for now. He would’ve been happy to do this until the day he died - and then to be resurrected, at your whim, for this express eternal purpose. His name sounded so much more pleasant from your mouth, especially when you sounded on the verge of tears with sensation, your throbbing cunt indecisive as to whether it wanted more or if it couldn’t take anything else.
He only let up when he felt your fingers go slack in his hair, your foot hitting the mattress with a soft little thud. When he pushed himself up to catch his breath, you were gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, your eyes like a starless night as your own chest heaved.
The blood he could feel congealing around his mouth only exacerbated the sudden overwhelming urge he felt to cage you in his arms and never let you go again, to meet everything else that sought your attention with a murderous glare and hands that itched for cold steel.
“Mine,” the Reaper hissed in the back of his skull, and for once, he had found himself in total agreement.
- Fuck. This wasn’t working. If even open wounds weren’t enough to dull the heat he felt spreading through his veins, he didn’t know what would. “Christ, M’sorry,” he muttered sheepishly to the woman on his table, hastily throwing down the clay knife as it felt like his skin was going to combust inside his protective gear. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’ll fix everythin’, I swear I’ll make it up to you, I’m—“ He couldn’t even finish the sentence as he pulled the sheet over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang for her dignity’s sake, then bolted out the door of the prep room towards the door to the hearse’s loading bay.
A full-throated peal of laughter rang out as he left, echoing off the stainless steel on the walls.
He slammed through the exit door, barely noticing the pouring afternoon rain as he scrabbled free of his gloves first, ripping the black latex in the process, before yanking off the splash guard and tossing it over his shoulder and back inside. He was already panting as he ditched the mask underneath, then clawed off the protective coat over his dark scrubs and throwing it behind him as well. Only then did he let himself lean over to put his hands on his knees, letting the somehow still warm rain run through his hair and over his face as he tried to figure out how to deal with the throbbing ache that drove him to literal distraction. If work wouldn’t do it - especially a hard restoration like this one - he wasn’t left with a lot of options.
One tempted him in particular. One he’d been trying to avoid, to be honest. It wasn’t something he liked to do, and it was definitely something he wanted to get in the habit of doing whenever a… similar situation occurred.
But as evening loomed on the edges of the afternoon, he couldn’t see himself with a lot of other options.
If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve admitted to himself that it was probably troublesome how he could’ve made the drive to your house blindfolded by now. How it was probably even more troubling that there was starting to be a spot in the bushes in the empty lot just down the street from you where he hid the old Mustang. Or how he’d already had a change of clothes in the back seat for just such an occasion, and he stripped out of his wet scrubs with as little eye contact as possible with the smugly smirking figure of his uncle in the rearview mirror.
He followed the little not-path that was starting to form between the lot and the trees that encircled your house, carefully ducking as needed to avoid any sight lines to the neighbor’s place across the street, avoiding the thorn bushes he’d learned were there the hard way, and carefully stepping around what rodent warrens he’d come across -
And at last, ending up exactly outside your bedroom window.
Your light was on, but your curtains were closed. He checked his phone, scrolling to his last text message from you - before lunch, if he remembered correctly. Amidst a flurry of bad jokes and some random dancing skeleton .gifs, you’d told him you had been feeling kind of gross today, and were planning on taking it easy.
So you were definitely home, then.
He peered through the small crack he could find in your blackout curtains, scanning your room and finding it still charmingly messy, but blessedly empty. Your bedcovers were rumpled, but there was no sign of you.
He hadn’t seen any light from your front windows when he’d driven by, though - so you weren’t watching TV on your couch. But where were you, then, if not here?
Slowly, he cracked the window, listening to what sounds he could catch to see if he could tell: sure enough, he heard strains of music, loud, but distant - further in the house. So no headache then, he thought with a touch of cheer. Good, you always seemed so miserable when you had one of those. You were endlessly restless on your mattress when you were, like you could never get comfortable.
He took the faraway music as his cue to crack the window wide enough to slide in, bending over to fit through in as little space as possible. It was a careful step over the window seat (something he was rather envious of, if he was honest) to your carpeted bedroom floor, and he immediately removed his shoes, not wanting to track dirt around your room.
From there, he dropped into a crouch to hide behind the silhouette of your bed in the middle of the room, carefully lowering the window as he himself sank to the floor. Once he was sure it was secure, he fell over on his side and rolled in one motion under your bed -
And came to a stop right before he ran face-first into your box of clean bedsheets. Perfect, he noted, you hadn’t moved anything in the few days since he’d been by. He’d carefully arranged everything under your bed so he was concealed from view from the doorway, but gave him enough room to stretch comfortably and avoid a dreaded leg cramp. He even had enough room to stash his shoes down by his feet, safely out of sight and nowhere where they could leave a mess.
He curled into his familiar space, resting his head on the hoodie you’d left down here once the weather had turned warm. He wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed it gradually sliding off your bed - genuinely, without any manipulations on his part - but after multiple nights of being tossed about in your fitful slumber, it had finally hit the floor when you’d rolled over, and he’d snatched it up immediately to repurpose it for himself. It was an old lesson he’d learned early: never waste a good opportunity. Not only did it make lying here easier, it had the lovely bonus of smelling like your soap, too.
…But that scent was a little stronger than usual, if he wasn’t mistaken. He sniffed your hoodie again, confused - it wasn’t like you’d found it to wash it, recently. When that wasn’t it, he kept still, trying to figure out what was happening to create this change. Your room wasn’t a place that changed drastically, and definitely not under your bed, so anything that caught his notice was definitely worth assessing as a potential new hazard.
However, it took him all of a minute to realize the music he’d heard was coming from your bathroom - accompanied by the sound of water rushing through the pipes in your walls. You were just having a shower. Was it cramps, then? Heat might relieve those, or it could just be general exhaustion. Bodies were tricky things when they were alive - he’d just have to wait and see what was ailing you.
He took a moment in the stillness to pull his phone out of his pocket and turn off vibrations along with sound, putting it completely on mute. He couldn’t risk him responding to one of your texts giving him away - wouldn’t that just be awkward.
As he did so, he caught another layer of sound amidst the water and the music, and he froze in place instinctively, trying to identify it. It was a voice, but not unfamiliar - yours, he decided after a moment.
After another moment still, he realized you were singing.
His heart was fit to burst; he’d never heard you sing before. It wasn’t professional, by any means, but it was just so… adorable. Genuine. You were no songbird, but neither was he. And he would’ve listened to this for hours, just to hear you sound so happy and at peace.
The song itself was familiar too, although the instruments weren’t quite right - a cover, maybe? He scooted as close to the far side of your bed as he dared, trying to make out the lyrics through the wall and the water. You’d stopped singing, your part apparently ended, and the voice had changed:
“—Sing once again with me,
Our strange duet.”
Maxi sat bolt upright in his excitement - or tried to, before he smacked his forehead hard into your bed frame. He immediately lay back down, cursing himself quietly and touching the tender spot that he was sure was going to bruise. Pulling his fingertips away, he was grateful not to see any blood, at least. But he was definitely going to have to not slick his hair back for a little bit, lest he attract unwanted attention.
But you’d rather liked it when he did that, he remembered you saying so. He squirmed a little where he lay at the idea of your fingers running through his hair, playing with it, the ache in him only slightly assuaged by being so close to you (after being tempered somewhat by having to walk through the rain in the growing dark, on top of that).
But the song was definitely a Phantom cover - he was surprised it had taken him so long to place it, but he was willing to chalk it up to the water and the less-than-spectacular acoustics of being stuffed under your bed. But it had just gotten to Christine’s part again, and he could hear you trying to keep up as she swept into her grand finale. You were admittedly nowhere near the singer’s range, but it was obvious you were having fun. When her final note sounded, he could hear you laughing at your own attempt to match it that came out more of a squeak at the end, and he thought his heart would melt out his mouth and dribble all over your floor. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought to ask you if you liked the show, when he knew the two of you had discussed the book before. He was already reaching for his phone to google when the next tour would be in town when he heard the water shut off.
He froze even though you were still in the next room, listening hard. You’d turned the music down as well, the playlist having shuffled to something else - another singer he liked, he noticed with glee, making a note to ask you about it later - and he could still hear you faintly through the walls, singing at a much more subdued level to match the quieter melody.
He heard the clattering of your various skincare products as you moved around, before the music moved as well, leaking into the hall as you opened the door and stepped lightly back into your room. Only wearing a huge t-shirt and (he could barely glimpse them) a pair of underwear, you seemed to move on a cloud of steam and something sweet, the whole room filled with the scent of your favorite products now, and he relished just laying there and drinking it in.
He watched your bare feet as you walked around your room, your nails freshly painted your favorite color, and surmised you must have been trying to treat yourself to a spa day. You had said you’d been feeling less than your best, so this might have been your way of trying to take care of yourself. He had to resist the urge to check the date, make a note for next time - he knew he was weird, sure, but there were lines even he was willing to respect. He’d have to trust you to tell him if you wanted his assistance with… something like this. He could respect your discretion if not, your relationship with your body was your own.
But still. He’d at least make sure to have some extra of your favorite snacks in his kitchen. It wouldn’t stand out too much, he supposed.
At last, you fell over onto your bed, and he heard you sigh contentedly as you relaxed onto your mattress. He resisted the urge to echo it aloud, instead just stretching out as much as he could manage to pretend he was resting alongside you. This wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely better than trying to white-knuckle through things at the Mortuary alone. At least you were here. At least the overwhelming feeling of… everything, had subsided somewhat now that he was with you.
He heard something move from your nightstand, and a moment later, he saw an empty wine glass come into view as you set it on the floor. You stayed leaning off your mattress, opening the door to your nightstand, and he moved backwards as much as he dared, trying to make sure you wouldn’t happen to notice him if you happened to glance underneath your bed. But you seemed fixated on whatever was in the cabinet. He couldn’t help but be a little curious - he hadn’t gotten to see what you’d kept in there, before, and it wasn’t like he had the opportunity to ask when he was here last night.
With an impatient sigh, he heard you moving to the right side of your mattress, then settle your feet back onto the floor. A moment later, his heart - previously melted - resolidified and jumped into his throat as he saw your knees follow suit, and you kneel in front of the cabinet you were still digging through.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There was no excuse for being under here, especially this early on, and double especially since you didn’t Know. He held his breath without realizing, pulling as slowly into himself as he could manage. It wasn’t like you had a direct line of sight under here, but it also wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him as soon as you bothered to look.
He had no one to pray to for this - the good ones wouldn’t dare grant his request, and the bad ones weren’t worth talking to. So he just held his breath and hoped, watching you rifle through a collection of —
Oh.
He watched you set what was very definitely a vibrator on your lap, then a second toy: long, made of dark silicone, it looked like. You picked up and held a couple similar ones of different sizes after that, clearly trying to decide something between them.
He knew he would’ve been scarlet if anyone could see him, the ache from earlier returning tenfold in an instant. So that’s what you kept in there. How… educational.
You were holding the dildo in your hands, and he felt one of his own slide up to cover his mouth, while the other slid… elsewhere. Your fingers were perfect, and once again, he found himself wishing you would touch him, as you had last night.
…In very different circumstances than right now, obviously. But still.
You were tracing the shaft with your thumb, humming thoughtfully to yourself. “Close enough,” you mumbled. “Or close as I’m going to get, anyway.” He heard you laugh to yourself, sounding a little embarrassed. “Yes, wonderful date conversation. ’Hi, Maxi, maybe-strange request, but can I just measure your dick for a sec? …Why? Oh, y’know, just wanted to commission something custom off the internet so I could fuck myself while thinking about you, even though we’ve only been going out for a month, no big deal.’ …God, I’m such a fucking weirdo,“ you muttered, sounding amused yet exasperated with yourself.
Maxi felt his fingers digging into his cheeks as his palm clamped hard over his mouth, barely cognizant of that possibly leaving yet another bruise. His brain felt like it was on fire, his sweats suddenly uncomfortably, impossibly tight. You… what? You what? You were doing what? Regularly enough that you wanted a what?
If he could’ve moved either of his hands, he would’ve pinched himself to make sure this was real, and not some pleasant fever dream from accidentally inhaling embalming chemicals. But one was firmly latched onto his face, determined not to give himself away and ruin this, while the other was already subconsciously desperately rubbing over his cock pressing against the front of his pants.
You pulled out a bottle of lube before you closed the cabinet, stepping back up onto your bed. He listened as you moved like a fox would track a rabbit, aware of every little slip of your skin against fabric, every slight motion of your legs -
Then the familiar sound of your gasp, soft and fluttering. Unexaggerated, wholly yours.
You writhed slightly on the mattress over him, and he could tell you were just warming yourself up. His face felt searing to the touch as he heard the growing sound of your wetness, you moaning quietly as you touched yourself, trying to relax.
Slowly, his left hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats, finding a slickness of his own already leaking from his sensitive tip. He bit down slightly on his right hand, determined not to make a sound as he spread it with a painful slowness over his shaft. As much as he dared, he tried to match the pattern of your movements, wishing it was him with you for real - as much as he was deathly curious about the version of him with you in your head.
He heard a quiet, choked sound from you not long at all after - a muffled moan, you biting your lip as you brought yourself to your first orgasm. You let out an unsteady exhale, and he heard you adjust, reaching for something you’d set down on the other side of your bed.
He had to hold his left hand still as he heard the pop of the plastic cap on the lube, the further hushed sounds of you spreading it along the proxy shaft, before finally you fell back again with a soft ‘thud’.
“Okay,” you murmured quietly to yourself. “Let’s see if I can manage not to totally embarrass myself with another person.”
Maxi was all too aware of his physical body being anchored to the floor as he resisted the urge to climb onto your mattress and kiss those fears away. He could never find you wanting, not in a million years, he could prove it to you right now if you just knew he was there, if it wouldn’t scare you—
But behind his eye sockets, he was aware of something looming, a dark near-arrogance that he couldn’t totally separate from himself. You thought you couldn’t take him. That you might struggle, be shy and flustered if you couldn’t manage it one one go.
The Reaper wanted to see you try, to see the embarrassed tears that might result if you couldn’t, to feel you try to push him back out again because you just couldn’t keep him there.
The part of his brain that was still wholly his wanted to soothe any such tears, reassure you with coos and murmurs about just how good you were, how well you were doing. But there was the tiniest part of him that wanted to lick those tears away, not kiss them, and savor them instead.
His train of thought was entirely interrupted by your sudden gasp, and your quiet groan. “Fuck,” you whimpered, and he could hear you writhing slightly, your feet sliding as you struggled to get comfortable. “Fuck, okay. Okay, it’s fine, I just need…” He heard your head hit the pillow with a sigh, and he felt like his body was one exposed wire.
He couldn’t help but squeeze just a little as he heard you panting softly, making a small, muffled noise as he heard you try to take the toy deeper, accompanied by the occasional slick sound of something moving in you. He felt his cock twitch in his hand at the noise, wishing desperately he could be letting you adjust around him instead.
A breathy whisper of his name sang across his nerves like a bow over strings, followed by a quiet resulting mewl. “I’m trying,” you whispered to the imaginary version of him with you, your voice sounding a little frayed and overwhelmed. “You’re just… a lot.”
Christ, you really were going to kill him. Carefully, painstakingly, he timed the movements of his hand over his cock to what he could make out of yours - his hand hoping to even fractionally capture the way you would squeeze around him, the achingly slow pace of pushing into you and pulling out again, trying to offer you some relief while still trying to satisfy the gnaw of need he could feel building at the base of his spine.
“I can,” you murmured to him and not-him, your voice shaking a little. “I can, I promise, just… I need a minute.” He heard a groan muffled by you biting your lip, trying to push the toy further. “There’s just so much of you, Maxi.”
He bit his own lip so hard it could bleed, trying his damnedest not to react to that out loud. You thought he was a lot. You’d seen him - you’d had him in your mouth, for christ’s sake - so it’s not like you were exaggerating, but still. You were already anticipating not only fucking him, but wanting to take him fully, and in that moment he thought his own anticipation might burn through his skin from the inside out. He wanted to be in you, for real, now.
Then he heard a soft cry, followed by another thud of your head against your pillow, the scrabbling of your feet as your back arched. “There,” you moaned, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his skull yet again. “See? I- oh, fuck, I told you I could.”
And then, slowly, he heard you starting to fuck yourself on it.
He bit fully down onto his own palm, matching your pace now, hoping your own slick sounds and now-desperate whines would cover the sounds of him trying to jerk himself off as quietly as possible. He wanted to be on you, his chest pressed against yours, feeling your sweat and your heart racing under your bones and your warm panting on his neck as he fucked you properly, gave you everything you were begging for just a foot away. He wanted to pin you down and fuck you until you forgot your own name, until he only knew his own from the way it fell off your lips and onto his. He felt your pace pick up in his own grip as you got closer, and the way his whole body tightened, he desperately wanted to fill you with his own release, to feel it slide down your thighs as he stubbornly fucked it back into you, not for anything to take but just to know that you wanted him inside you.
“Please, please, Maxi, don’t stop,” you whined above him, and he tasted his own blood as his teeth finally split the skin of his hand. He wished it was your neck, your shoulder, those wicked little lips of yours - he’d kiss it better in a second, he’d apologize immediately for marking your precious skin, but he was so hungry to feel you with him, for real, that he longed for even the warmth of your wounds on his lips.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore of this, the closest thing to heaven and hell at the same time, he heard you come with a last cracked moan of his name. He shattered immediately, spilling his own load from a day of obsessing over and repressing the memories of you inside his clothes, and utterly ruining them in the process. He flushed even more furiously, the heat spreading down to his chest from both the ecstasy of relief at last, and embarrassment for coming in his pants like a freshman. He fucked into his hand as he heard you coming down until he went fully soft, bordering on the ache of overstimulation but trying to satisfy the gaping hole that came from not actually being able to pull you against him, to descend together in each other’s tangled, sweaty limbs.
For a moment, the two of you just lay there in silence - you still panting softly, him still biting into the flesh of his hand, not trusting himself not to moan the minute he pulled it away. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you that you were perfect, that you took him like you were made for him - or that you would, when the time was right, he was sure of it. But not until you were feeling better, not until you wanted to, until you chose.
“…Holy fuck,” you mumbled above him, sounding somewhat hazy, and he instead had to fight his usual giggle-snort. How were you this cute, he wondered, it wasn’t even fair.
He heard you shift slowly, reaching for something else on your nightstand - he winced as he caught himself secretly hoping it wasn’t the lube again. After a day of agony, he wasn’t sure he could go another round as enthusiastically as you.
But instead, he heard a soft, familiar tapping. In his scattered haze, it took him a minute to place it — until he saw your arm dangling over the side of your mattress, your phone still clutched in your hand as you waited for a text to send.
He caught his name on the screen before you pulled it up again, and hurriedly, he rummaged in his pocket to pull out his own just as the notification of a new message appeared.
<[Thinking of you, handsome <3 Hope work isn’t giving you too much trouble today?]
You wicked little minx. Maxi slowly released his palm from his teeth, bringing up his second hand to write back.
[Aw, miss you pretty. <3 Work’s been… work haha. Feeling better?]>
That was as close as he could think to summarizing the situation, anyway. And he was reasonably sure ‘hey look down here :)’ wouldn’t be very well received, even if he was starting to become aware of your own more… interesting tendencies. He glanced up at the bottom of your mattress as he waited for his own message to send, pondering this. He knew the two of you were still in the early stages, but he was now deeply curious what other strange urges you were hiding in that sweet little head of yours. Besides apparently liking his dick enough to want a memento of your own - something that, if he wasn’t already still flushed, would’ve made him do so all over again as he thought about it.
He heard your phone buzz, and his heart lept at your quiet little excited noise as you rolled over on your mattress. He was half-tempted to peek and see if you were kicking your feet in the air, for as much as you made him want to do the same, but he kept himself out of sight.
A second of fast typing later, your response appeared:
<[So much better omg. Sorry about work though :/ Do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow? We could watch a bad movie and drink about it.]
‘Yes,’ Maxi sent immediately. He winced at his own eagerness, then quickly added:
[Whenever works for you, if you feel up to it! No pressure if you start feeling bad again.]>
He heard you roll back over onto your back, giggling to yourself. He restrained himself from sighing in relief. At least you thought he was cute, and not desperate.
Another response popped up on his screen:
<[Oh I’m definitely better, no worries. <3 My place, maybe seven-ish if that’s okay?]
And then, as he was typing a confirmation, another:
<[And don’t sweat needing to drive home or anything btw. I have a spare toothbrush and stuff lol. ;)]
Maxi resisted the urge to punch the air, both because it would send his fist straight into your box spring, and because he was far too old to be doing that and not feeling ridiculous about it. But he definitely wanted to, in the moment.
[Haha sure. I’ll see you then angel <3]>
You wouldn’t need to know he was seeing you before.
Or at least, he would tell you later. Much later.
(as always, if you read this far, you’re a saint and I love you! <3)
#SFBF#Blood Fest#Blood Fest 2022#maxi morvant#maximilian vincent morvant#maxi morvant x reader#maxi morvant x you#slasher oc#slasher oc x reader#necromancer oc#plus size reader#non-binary reader#genderqueer reader#morvant mortuary#monsterkisser fics#mdni
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