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strang3lov3 · 5 months

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Pharmacy

Summary: (mall rats 6) Surrounded by medical supplies is a convenient time to slice your hand open. Joel wrestles your stubborn ass to treat your wound, then fucks you how you like.

Tags: Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars opinions, manhandling, descriptions of injuries (I tried to keep it as short and sweet as I could, bc I myself am a squeamish girl!! I was squirming the whole time writing this!!!) blowjobs, f masturbation, kinda rough unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, reader and Joel have googly eyes for each other

A/N: as always thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. Thank you all for your continued patience with my writing, I am a busy busy lady and you may not get another fic from me for two weeks or more with the whole finals thing, but I do have lots of shit planned! One thing at a time bug one thing at a time. I wish I could write smut for my history of Indiana final essay but I don’t think that would fly with my nun-obsessed professor. Also, thank you @noxturnalpascal and @speckledemerald for hyping me up ❤️❤️

Joel is standing in front of a map of the mall, studying it intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been at the mall with Joel, actually. With the weather getting worse with more and more snow, Tommy is trying to keep travel limited to patrol. Supply runs for necessities only, and Jackson is in need of medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, first aid supplies. There’s actually a medical building not far from Jackson, but it’s pretty well picked over at this point.

“Mall has a pharmacy. A CVS or Walgreens, somethin’ like that. I’ll go,” Joel had volunteered in Tommy’s office.

“I’ll come too,” you added as you were helping Tommy fill out patrol logs.

Joel sighed, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. Don’t need you gettin’ distracted by lotions and perfumes again.”

“Those are necessities,” you argue, “Besides, buddy system. It’s important for us to stick together.”

“We are not buddies,” Joel scoffed. Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No? What are we, then?”

Joel opened his mouth as if to answer with something sharp and argumentative, but no words came out. His cheeks turned rosy as you both shared an odd look, with Joel’s hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. The pencil you wrote with felt heavy in your hand, held awkwardly on the paper as you stared at Joel. You didn’t mean for that question to come out the way it did. What was the answer to the question, anyway?

Tommy filled the silence with his own answer. “I know what y’all are,” he smirked.

Joel shot Tommy a warning look, then took your jacket from behind your chair and held it open for you. “Let’s go, then,” he said. You put your arms through the sleeves, zipped yourself up and left. You could hear Tommy chuckling to himself as you walked out with Joel.

You rode horseback to the mall. Still feeling awkward from the interaction at Tommy’s, you both stayed silent, but the ride wasn’t uncomfortable. You hugged Joel tightly, and Joel savored the warmth of your cheek on his back.

“Found it,” Joel taps the map, “I remember now. It’s downstairs.”

“Ha!” you brag, “I told you. I knew it was downstairs. I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll throw a party when we get home,” Joel replied, taking off towards the dilapidated staircase. You follow close behind, dragging your fingers against the railing, letting your hand tap each of the thin rods that support it. One breaks off and falls with a clatter. Joel doesn’t bother turning around to see what it was. “You break these stairs, you find us a new way out of here,” he warns. Dramatic. You pick up the thin rail and twirl it as you walk behind Joel, then poke his ass with the piece of metal. Already exhausted by you, he sighs, “What’d you find now, trouble?”

“Lightsaber,” you answer.

“What?” Joel tilts his head and turns around to finally see what all the noise and clattering was. You’re holding one of the thin rods from the railing, still twirling it. “No, put that down,” he tells you, “You’re gonna give yourself tetanus. Put it down, sweetheart.”

“Ellie lent me this DVD. Did you ever see this old movie, Star Wars?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “Ain’t that old, smartass. And of course I’ve watched Star Wars, who do you think introduced it to her?”

“Oh,” you reply, “Well, there was this character, Jar Jar–”

“Nope,” Joel cuts you off, “You’re done. Lost your talkin’ privileges. Drop your lightsaber and zip it.”

Still twirling the rod you ask, “You don’t like Star Wars?”

“I like Star Wars. What you watched is not Star Wars.”

“Yes it is, Joel. It was on the DVD.”

Joel turns back around and keeps walking, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah I do. Mesa–”

Joel interrupts, “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns, “God, that movie was so stupid. Took Sarah to see it when it came out, we ended up leavin’ halfway through and gettin’ ice cream instead.” You watch Joel smile at the memory as you approach the pharmacy and he holds the door open for you. You smile with him. Joel doesn’t talk about Sarah much with you, but he mentions her now and then, at least more than he used to.

You and Joel find the first aid aisle of the pharmacy. He knows what to look for, so he peruses the aisles and stuffs his bag full of supplies. Watching him bend over, you can’t help but poke his ass again. “Knock it off, space cadet,” he says, annoyed.

You giggle to yourself and toss the rod aside. You hadn’t realized the end that you were holding was damaged when you broke it off the railing. Fuck. It’s sharp, jagged, and slices your palm all the way across. The rod clangs on the ground and startles Joel.

Joel turns around to see the rod on the ground, and you clutching your fist tightly. “What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” you answer, feeling your hand become warm and wet.

Joel connects the dots. He bends over and checks the rod for rust and there’s none, thank god. But the end is very jagged, almost serrated like a knife. “Open your hand.”

“No,” pressing your lips together, you lower your gaze and open your fist slightly to check your hand, then quickly shut it. Joel watches your eyes go wide and the color draining from your face. “It’s n–mmm,” you hum, your voice shaky, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Joel reaches for your hand, “You’re hurt. Need to see how deep that cut is, clean it and–”

You shove Joel backward with your free hand, and he looks momentarily taken aback. There was a lot more strength behind that shove than he would have anticipated. You’re not playing, not teasing like usual. “Do you wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Don’t touch me.”

Joel takes in your expression. You’re not trying to start a fight with him, you look worried, anxious, and defensive with pale lips and trembling hands. You had mentioned not handling blood or pain well before, but he didn’t know you were this squeamish, you poor thing. “I have to, hon.”

“Joel…”

Joel raises a hand in your direction, “Don’t argue with me on this. You need to sit down, I can tell you’re gettin’ freaked.”

“Joel,” you say his name again in a warning tone, much sharper than before.

“I know,” he says softly, as he steps closer to you, and you step back, your feet hitting the wall behind you. You’re feeling more amped up now. “Just let me look,” as he reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, his grip tightening when you struggle against him and try to pull your arm away. “Quit squrimin’,” he grits his teeth as he fights against your strength. Minding his own strength, and with one hand gripping your wrist, he moves the other to your shoulder and forces you to the ground as gently as he can. A sliced hand is bad enough, he doesn’t need you fainting and cracking your skull open. You kick your legs and punch against him, but he pins his body on top of yours, your free hand between your body and his leg.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you spit, “Get off, get off, get–”

“Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, “Breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous.”

You stare at Joel with fiery eyes, breathing heavily through your nose. Shallow breaths, probably not getting enough oxygen to your brain, but at least you’re breathing. Joel gives you a moment to settle down.

“I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, “I don’t know how deep your cut is. I need you to let me look.”

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m gonna be gentle,” Joel promises as he flips your wrist up, gently beginning to pry your fingers open, “You look at me. Don’t look at your hand. Just look at me. Will you trust me?”

Nodding apprehensively, you keep your focus on Joel. He nods in response, then examines your palm. He bites his cheek and frowns.

“Is it bad?” you ask shakily.

“Uhh,” he hums, “It’s not good,” he answers you honestly. You’re cut in multiple areas and by the looks of it, the gashes go pretty deep. “You might need stitches.”

Fuck that. You squirm under Joel with all of your might to force him off of you.

“Stop thrashin’. Stop it,” he says, holding your jaw firmly and looking into your eyes, “I’m not gonna stitch ya. We can cross that bridge when we get to Jackson. But you are risking infection. So I’m going to stop the bleeding, wash it, disinfect, then wrap your hand. That’s all.”

He has a tendency to get frustrated with you, and you’re sure he’s beyond frustrated with you right now, but he’s not showing it. He looks sincere, but you’re still on edge and lacking assurance. “Promise?” you whisper.

“I swear,” he assures softly, rubbing your jaw gently with his thumb. When you nod in response, Joel takes his coat off and folds it, then slides it under your head. He needs you as comfortable as you can be.

“We are gonna have to amputate, though,” he jokes as he pulls out a rag from his bag and presses it into your hand. You give him a dirty look. “Kidding,” he says.

Joel removes the rag to see if your hand is still bleeding. You catch a glimpse of the cut and the blood in your palm, running down your wrist, “Oh god, my hand, Joel–”

“Don’t look,” he repeats, “Just keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You can’t seem to peel your eyes away, and you feel lightheaded. Joel notices.

“Tell me somethin’ new,” he says, distracting you from the pain.

“Joel, please,” you whine.

“Somethin’ new,” he reminds you.

“I saw a cat yesterday.”

Joel nods in response. “What color?” he asks.

“Uh, calico,” you reply. He’s reaching into his bag, pulling out his canteen and rinsing your hand out with his water. The cool water feels soothing on your palm.

“What’s calico?”

“It’s when a cat has three colors, Joel,” you answer impatiently, as if the answer should be glaringly obvious to him. “Fuck,” you hiss, as he pats the wound dry. The fabric feels irritating and painful against you.

“Tell me more. Tell me good things.”

Following his instructions, you begin rambling. It’s not hard once you start. “I saw a cat and I kicked Tommy’s ass in a board game and his baby is so cute, by the way. Almost as cute as the cat.”

“You think cats are cuter than babies?”

��Obviously. Babies are gross and they’re noisy and I finished the sweater I was crocheting for Maria and the snow looks pretty and I love you and I…”

Joel pauses his work on your hand momentarily. He doesn't hear anything else you say after those three words. I love you. It’s a fuzzy sort of quiet, he’s in disbelief. I love you. When your hand twitches, he pulls his focus back to you.

“...And I watched Star Wars.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “You said that already, you said–”

“I did? Oh yeah. I guess I did.”

You’re clearly delirious, in panic mode, and not thinking straight. You don’t remember talking about Star Wars an hour ago, you don’t even realize what just slipped your lips a second ago. Joel smiles to himself. He’s suspected it for a while. He loves you too. But that’s a conversation for later. There’s a more pressing issue at hand, quite literally.

Joel clears his throat and blinks a couple of times. “Uhm,” he hums, thinking of something to say, “And you said you got that movie from Ellie? The Phantom Menace?”

“Star Wars.”

“Yeah, Star Wars Episode I, The Phantom Menace,” he corrects you. You shrug. “Unbelievable,” Joel says, “Thought I taught that girl better.” He reaches for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and keeps your hand open in his. “Alright, deep breath in and out. This is the worst part, then we’re done.”

Before you have time to breathe in and out as instructed, before you have time to argue, Joel dumps the alcohol in your palm. You yelp and tug your hand away, but he holds it still.

“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “Almost done.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“Look, all done,” he whispers as tears off a piece of gauze and lays it over your gash. “See? All done. Just need to wrap it,” Joel prepares more gauze, “Makes sense you’ve identified with Jar Jar, of all characters.”

“What do you mean?”

Joel begins to wrap the bandage tightly around your hand. “Clumsy,” he murmurs, “Troublemakin’... accident prone.”

“I don’t think you like Star Wars,” you tell him.

“Not the prequels,” Joel replies, “Only good thing about the outbreak is that they couldn’t finish that godforsaken mess of a trilogy.”

“What do you mean, ‘prequels’?”

“There was an original trilogy that came out before that movie you watched. Ellie didn’t show you them?”, and you shake your head no, “So you don’t know Han Solo or Princess Leia. That means nothin’ to ya?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ. What about C-3PO? R2-D2?”

“Oh, yeah. I know them. They were in that movie.”

“No,” Joel disagrees, then looking baffled for a second before nodding his head as he remembers the hour he spent watching that movie with Sarah years and years ago. “Mm, yeah, you’re right. Guess they were,” Joel concedes, “We’ll have to rectify this, you know. Have a movie night sometime.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “You can make me popcorn.”

“I’ll make you popcorn,” Joel says, watching a smile form on your lips. “There it is,” he praises, “Missed that smile. Don’t like seein’ you upset like that,” he murmurs, finishing your bandage wrap and securing it in place. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks as he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets your hand go. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin as he watches you and your cheeks begin to warm.

“I know what you’re gonna do with me,” you whisper.

I’m gonna kiss you, and I’ll tell you that I love you too. That’s what I’m gonna do with you, Joel thinks, his heart beginning to race.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“You’re gonna listen to my Jar Jar impression.”

Joel sighs. He watches you with adoration, and he wants nothing more than to express that adoration for you. It’ll happen when it happens. He decides to let it go for now and play along with you instead, however you want to. You deserve it, after all. He’ll put up a facade like you drive him crazy and he’ll let you believe you’re really getting under his skin, just to watch you smile and hear you laugh like you really got him this time. And he’ll tease you back, at least once more.

“Please spare me until I lose my hearing in my other ear.”

You oblige, smiling and rolling your eyes. Still holding eye contact with Joel, you become acutely aware of the position you’re in, that all too familiar position. Faces close, bodies closer and staring into his sparkly, warm brown eyes with his weight pressing into you. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way he took care of you, who knows. Out of the blue, you’re turned on and Joel knows. Joel cocks an eyebrow when your breath hitches, when you bite your lip and begin to squirm underneath him, seemingly now uncomfortable, aroused no doubt. “Time and place, hon,” he smirks smugly.

Heat rises up your neck and your cheeks at his accusation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. I know how you operate,” he asserts. “What’s got ya all worked up all of a sudden?” Joel asks, his hand caressing your cheek, your jaw.

“Nothing,” you lie. Your skin burns where his fingers trace.

“I think you’re lyin’. I know you like when I get rough with ya, just wasn’t expectin’ ya to like it now of all times, when I had to wrestle you down to fix that gash in your hand,” Joel taunts, “You’re very stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

“Challenging,” you counter his claim, “And I wasn’t being stubborn. I could have taken care of my hand myself. I didn’t really need your help.”

Joel knows that’s a lie. You did, in fact, need his help. Badly.

“That right there is stubborn.”

“No,” you argue, “And I’m not worked up right now, either.” Joel makes an amused face at you, and you wince internally.

Shit. You fucked that up. Overcompensated.

“Right. Course not.”

Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to argue further but Joel hushes you. “What do I get if you’re wet right now, sweetheart?” he whispers, unbuttoning your jeans. Your tummy flutters with desire as his fingertips skate across your skin. “You’re more than welcome to stop me right now,” he purrs. He’s giving you an out, a moment to make a choice, but you don’t dare stop him. And Joel grins. He snakes his hand down your pants, underneath your thin cotton panties. The anticipation builds with the tickle of his fingers lightly dragging over your mound, his middle and ring fingers tracing over your lips. You gasp quietly when he dips his fingers at your core, his fingertips collecting your arousal. You stifle a whine as he pulls his hand away from your body, showing you his two fingers glistening with your slick. Joel clicks his tongue, “Can’t be comfortable,” he murmurs, his tone sarcastic and sympathetic all at the same time. “This all for me?”

“No,” you breathe shakily. Yes.

“You’re lyin’ to me,” he mumbles, bringing his two fingers to his lips. His mouth makes obscene noises as he sucks them clean of your arousal, humming at the sweet taste. Before you can think, he’s pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his fingers finding their place back at your pussy. “You could tell me the truth and I’d go easy on ya,” he offers, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You love the thrill, that feeling in your stomach. Joel gives you a moment to answer, but you don’t. “No?” he asks before situating himself on the ground with you, backing himself against a wall and pulling you into his lap. “Gonna make it worse for yourself,” he says, spreading your legs apart and hiking up your shirt, one hand playing with your pussy and the other kneading your breasts, teasing your nipples, “Why don’t you tell me how much ya needed this, hm? How you want me to make it all better.”

You sigh, a soft Joel falling from your lips as you become wetter, more sensitive as Joel’s fingers dance through your slick folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, fingers curling into that spot that he so loves. His thumb rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and he flicks the thumb of his other hand across your sensitive nipples, the combination of actions filling you with a deep, hot pleasure. You rest your head on his shoulder, the scratchy hairs on his cheek pressing against your forehead. You reach behind yourself to touch him, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” Joel shoves you forward, careful not to use too much of his strength but enough to let you know that he’s in charge. He’s always in charge. He takes his folded coat from the ground and positions it in front of himself. He stands up tall, knees popping as he rises. “Since you have nothin’ better to do with your mouth than tellin’ lies…” Joel snaps and points to his coat, “Might as well keep you quiet instead. Down,” he instructs, “On your knees. Do it now.”

“Yes, Joel,” as you assume the position.

“Ah, now she speaks,” he taunts, the quiet metallic clang of him undoing his belt buckle sending excitement shooting through you. “Open,” is his next command, “Nice n’ wide, hon, you know how,” he instructs as he pulls out his cock, hard and with a pearly bead of precum glistening on his head. You open your mouth for Joel, eyes wide and Joel taps his member on your tongue. “Keep ya from doin’ that stupid fuckin’ impression, too.”

Your eyes light up as you think of something quippy to say, but Joel slides his cock into your mouth to keep you from doing so. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, “Quiet.” He’s delicious, masculine, heady, and intense. He fills your mouth entirely and you swirl your tongue around him, tracing thick veins and salty skin. “Attagirl,” Joel praises you, gripping the back of your head and pushing himself further into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you, “Right there.”

He pushes you further than you’re used to, but not to the point of discomfort. His tummy nudges your forehead as your nose presses against dark curls at the base of his dick and you use your hand to cup his balls. As you hum against him, you wonder if Joel intends for this to be a punishment. His tone and the way he conducts himself is commanding, but the way he fucks your mouth is gentle.

“Still not worked up, right? Don’t need me?”, he asks, staring down at you with raised eyebrows. You shake your head no, lying again. “Okay,” he says, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t come. Not until you tell me what I wanna hear.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring your fingers to your core, feeling your arousal. You push two fingers into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out and trying to mimic the way it feels when Joel does it.

As you fuck yourself, you hollow your cheeks around his thick cock, letting him feel every inch of your soft and wet mouth. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your cheek is gentle, caressing your skin softly. He looks down at you through hooded lids and as your eyes flutter shut, you wonder what he’s thinking.

The way you’re touching your pussy hardly counts as fucking yourself, it’s teasing at best, and excruciating at that. You rub circles around your clit steadily, subtly, needing more than what he’s told you to give yourself. With your fingers working your clit and your mouth working Joel, the familiar pleasure of your climax is just within reach. Feeling yourself reaching your peak, you look up at Joel, “What are you doin’?”, he asks, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

You pull your mouth off of his cock to whisper, “Please, Joel,” which garners an irritated look from him. Joel bends lower to grab you by your bicep and force you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over an empty shelf of an end cap. He parts your legs and drags his cock through your folds with one hand, the other gripping your hip.

“Need those magic words, sweetheart. Say it, ‘I need you, Joel’. Go on, now. You got it.”

With the leftover feeling of your ruined orgasm and Joel’s cock teasing your pussy, you fold immediately. “I need you, Joel,” you breathe, “I need you.”

“Tell me more. How do you need me?” as he continues to tease.

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, “Please.”

“Need me to fuck ya,” he repeats, amused. Joel notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, “How ‘bout that. Tell me somethin’ I didn’t know.”

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t give you time to answer before he buries himself inside of you. You groan at the sudden intrusion, how deeply he enters you and how full you feel.

He doesn’t need to experiment with you, doesn’t need to vary how he fucks you. You grip the edge of the end cap with both hands as he finds his pace immediately. His cock hits you right where you need him.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaching for your bandaged hand, “Don’t hold that. S’gonna hurt your hand. Hold mine instead,” as he wraps his palm around yours. “Better?”

“Better.”

You’re lost in it all, his hand holding yours tightly and his thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. His face is right next to yours, his nose buried in your hair as he nips at your ear.

“Fuck,” he grunts as he fucks you. He moans softly, his breath feels warm. Each thrust feels deep and intentional. “Good girl. Takin’ my cock so good.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan.

He makes stuttering, strangled sort of noises. His breathing is sharp and unsteady through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture him perfectly, his messy salt and pepper curls and that deep set line between his brows.

He fucks you hard and rough, both of you panting and moaning. Soon enough, his rhythm becomes frenetic and stuttering. “Squ– fuck, squeezin’ me too good, I’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

“Let me come, Joel,” you plead, “Please.”

“I know, I know. Don’t need to beg me, darlin’,” Joel coos. He snakes his hand between your thighs and quickly finds your clit, his thrusts still steady and deep. He expertly paints circles around your clit as he becomes sloppier and frenzied.

“Oh god, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls begin to clench and squeeze him, “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah, s’it, let go for me,” he pants.

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud gasp, gripping his hand hard. Even after he helps you ride out your orgasm, he doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. You bite your lip to stifle yourself as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting your insides with his seed.

You catch your breath with Joel as he begins to go soft inside you. You feel empty when he pulls out of you, craving the weight of his hand on yours after he lets go. As your breathing slows, turn around to face Joel. His dominant, taunting demeanor is gone and he helps you back into your clothes, then examines the bandage on your hand. He frowns when he sees he’s crumpled it and dampened it with his sweat. “Hang on,” he murmurs, quickly reaching for more gauze to rewrap it.

You touch his shoulder, “Just– let’s wrap it again at home. It’s just gonna get ruined again.”

“No, I promise I’m not gonna clean it again, I just wanna–” Joel stops talking when you reach for his hand. He looks at where his hand connects with yours, then looks at you. “Okay,” he says. He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say more. You look like you want to.

Hand in Joel’s, you walk together out of the mall. The horseback ride home is quiet. You hug Joel tightly, and Joel savors the warmth of your cheek on his back again.

“Joel?” you ask.

“Yeah, hon.”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna hear my impression?”

“I’m sure,” Joel says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

as always, i appreciate all of my readers. please please please leave a comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed, your comments really do mean the world and keep me going <3

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upsidedownwithsteve · 7 months

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

18+ a little happy birthday blurb for @loveshotzz 🧡

Steve’s breath was a ragged thing, gasping and ruined. “Honey, we’re gonna be late.”

You only hummed, leaning over the centre console of Steve’s car until the stick shift dug into the soft of your tummy. The awkward angle didn’t stop you from mouthing at Steve’s jawline, pressing dirty kisses to his throat, nose nudging into the space under his ear until the car lurched a little.

“Easy on the gas, Harrington,” you murmured. “You’ll put us into a ditch, never mind late.”

Steve huffed out a laugh but the sound got choked off as your hand ran up the length of his thigh, denim rippling under your fingertips until they were climbing over his crotch, the material tightening as he got harder with every passing minute.

“Nancy’s got a dinner planned,” he groaned, lips parting and cheeks turning rosy as you kept up your kisses, palming over the metal of his zipper. The road was quiet, thankfully, because Steve was crawling at fifteen miles under the speed limit. Hopper has been unfortunate enough to pull you both over too many times now. “Robin baked a cake,” he added weakly.

“And that’s very sweet of them,” you murmured. “We’ll get there, eventually. You don’t wanna pull over?”

You were being awful, touching and teasing and kissing and relishing in the way Steve breathed a little heavier when you slid back into your seat and let your skirt skin up your thighs.

“S’your birthday,” Steve tried to reason, but his gaze was flickering from the road ahead to the sight of your fingers pulling at your hem. “Baby. You’re gonna get me in trouble if I don’t get you there on time.”

You grinned, unbothered because knowing your friends, Eddie would be late, Jonathan would be scrambling for a new roll of film, Robin would’ve dropped something and Nancy would be cleaning it up.

“Exactly,” you pouted. Your fingers curled into the soft material of your skirt, hitching it upupup until you heard Steve swear. “I’m the birthday girl. Shouldn’t we be doing what I wanna do?”

Steve couldn’t bite back his smile and he conceded, nodding, the car slowing to a stop at a traffic light. “What does the birthday girl wanna do then, huh?”

You grinned back, taking the few seconds you had left as the light sat at red to curl your fingers between Steve’s. You tugged, gentle, guiding his hand to your bare leg and risking upwards, his knuckles bumping under your skirt until his fingers were pressed with yours against the seam of your cunt.

“You.”

Steve pulled over not even half a mile down the road, the car kicking up dirt as he crunched into a space between some trees, letting you pull him into the backseats with a litany of cursed. He said your name like a prayer, demanding that you lay back for him, greedy as he spread your legs and put his mouth on you. He hummed the tune of ‘happy birthday’ as he kissed across your thighs, licking at the lacy band of your underwear until you squealed and laughed at his nonsense.

The noise died when he tugged then aside, though, pressing open mouth kisses to your cunt, tongue licking across your clit, his big hands holding your hips and pinning you to the chair when you tried to buck up.

And if you were a little late, well, it was worth it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve harrington fanfiction #Steve harrington x reader smut #Steve harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb #Steve harrington oneshot

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frostbitebakery · 1 month

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LOUD.

part one two three four five six seven eight nine

“You’ve got something there,” Quin says, gesturing vaguely at his own shoulder.

“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan signs. “It’s some sort of monkey lizard fungus.”

The monkey lizard fungus giggles into his shoulder.

Quin nods grimly. “I heard the only cure is to placate it with sweets and hope for the best.”

Anakin precariously leans over, heels accidentally digging into still bruised ribs.

Obi-Wan bites his lips behind the collar but of course Quin immediately detects his movements turning stiff.

Quin holds out an arm, flexing his bicep with wiggling eyebrows. It has the desired effect and Anakin jumps from Obi-Wan, swinging around the elbow before hooking his knees over Quin’s arm.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Quin strains out.

They walk to one of the mess halls that’s open around the clock and mainly offers food and beverages to those clinging with teeth to their sanity during exam season.

One of the cramming Padawans looks up from their dozen holo books displaying graphs, and squints at them. “Master Vos, there’s something growing out of your arm?”

“Monkey lizard fungus,” Obi-Wan signs, hiding a smile behind his collar at the Padawan nodding to themselves as if that makes perfect sense.

“What’s with them?” Anakin asks, looking at the sleep deprived tableau and hoisting himself up and swinging one leg over Quin’s shoulder.

“This is your future,” Quin says gravely and Obi-Wan is catapulted to melting stone fire Darkness “You were supposed to be my Master!” yellow familiar eyes from a smoking alive corpse and the grief is ripping him apart “—see once you take your first assignments. The only places you’ll be is either here or the Archives.”

It’s been years since he last had a vision. It’s staggering, his heart thumping in his chest like a clock ticking down the inevitable countdown. But it’s not.

He looks over to Anakin who’s already watching back with wide eyes, the fear in his hands gripping onto Quinlan. “I won’t let it come to that,” he promises, fingers thudding together heavily but he’s still shaking off the vision and Anakin’s fear is a taste in the air by now. He can’t not make promises he only hopes he can keep.

Quinlan is silent during their exchange, gloved hands keeping hold of Anakin. The calculating look in his eyes a guarantee Obi-Wan is going to get cornered later.

“Do you like Depa being your Master?”

Let it be said, paranoia is a common infliction amongst Shadows.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs, voice breaking with puberty and annoyance. “Depa is wizard. She’s amazing even though she’s signed me up to all these classes.”

Obi-Wan looks over all the models, plans, and concepts with added calculations. There’s a data pad displaying language modules and another proclaiming the joys of agriculture. “It’s almost all in the engineering field,” he signs.

“Which makes her so wizard. You’d never have me taking up gardening though,” Anakin adds sullenly.

Don’t yearn for things I cannot give you, Obi-Wan has thought a lot in the past few years as the Galaxy seems to slowly steep in Darkness.

“Knowing what can poison you is important,” he signs, feeling restless and helpless. The mission he’s finished two cycles ago may still reside in his bones.

“I’ll just bite back,” Anakin says, tongue sticking out as he connects wires to ports. He presses a button and the thing he’s been tinkering with since before Obi-Wan left starts to purr smoothly. “Now she can even juice cocadooms,” he says, satisfaction purring just as smoothly in his voice.

“Well done.”

“I know,” Anakin responds airily and swivels around to face Obi-Wan fully. “You’re lurking in the shadows again so let’s get this tradition over with: Depa is an awesome Master and maybe I sometimes wish you’d have chosen me but,” he adds loudly when Obi-Wan lifts his hands to protest, “I also sometimes daydream Master Tiin had chosen me because he’s got his own modded Delta-7.”

The paranoia settles down as Anakin waxes over how wicked the new wing box skins and sensor fusions are, no, truly, you should see them, Obi-Wan!

#loud au #jedi shadow!obi wan #mute!obi wan #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars au #my art #frostbitebakery art

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schrodingerscougar · 2 months

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Warning: afab!reader. i felt like writing a sad drabble(ish) thing.

Simon keeps a comfortable distance at first. He knows you’re interested in him, he knows he was the one who asked you out on a date, but despite all this, he just can’t get himself to let you close. So he keeps the dates simple, like going to watch a movie or having lunch at a fast food restaurant, maybe–and that’s a rare occasion–watching something with you at home.

You try to make a move on him, you want to go beyond occasional reserved kisses, but he acts like he didn’t pick up on the signs. But he does; he knows perfectly well what you want from him, but he’s not ready to give it to you yet. That would make your relationship serious and he’s not planning to let that happen.

Deep down he knows it’s a problem he’d have to face eventually. So three months into your strange relationship he visits the psychologist the military always sends him to and asks for the specialist’s opinion. Is it because of his job? Is it because of his family? Is he just afraid he would lose you too? He doesn’t get the answer he’s looking for, so he goes home and tries to come up with a solution himself.

The next time he goes on a mission, things go south pretty fast. He gets a bullet in his side and a cracked rib, so he has to stay in the hospital for a few days. On day two he begins to wonder if he should call you. He doesn’t think it’s any of your business, but you’re his girlfriend, maybe he should tell you about this. The next day he gets ready to call you, but he just can’t get himself to push the call button. It’s only on day four that he starts a video call.

You're worried, he can see that. You try not to show it, but even through the small screen of a phone he can see the physical signs. He's good at reading people and you're an open book to him. It kind of warmed his heart to know you cared about him so much, but at the same time it was scaring the hell out of him.

How could he end this relationship before you drowned in it? How could he break up with you carefully, making sure you don't get hurt?

When he returns home, he's ready for the big conversation. He would make it quick, straight to the point, and he would assure you it's not you, it's him. Because he’s the problem. He's the one who can't deal with commitment.

“We need to talk, love,” he begins, immediately regretting adding the pet name. But it comes so naturally when he looks at you that he can't do anything to stop himself.

He watches as you let out a sigh and sit on the couch, patting the empty space next to you. But he refuses because he knows he might change his mind the moment he smells your favorite perfume you picked just for him, and he also knows he would confess his undying love for you if he looked into your eyes from up close.

Over an hour later he’s already home, the sight of tears running down your face filling his mind as he lies on the couch. He wishes he didn't have to do this. He wishes he was strong enough to stick around, to be the man you always wanted him to be.

But he's not a good person. He had to break your heart to protect you from the harm his fucked up life could bring to you. He had to leave before he caused permanent damage.

Little did he know you were pregnant with his child. If he had known…

(part 2)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3 #call of duty

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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all this, and love too (will ruin us)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: The night of Oliver's party and both yours and Felix's moods are ruined upon finding out Oliver had been lying to you both for your entire friendship. While sticking with Felix all night to make sure he doesn't maim Oliver, Felix realises he doesn't like sharing you anymore. You're more than okay with this, but Oliver doesn't seem to be okay with sharing Felix, even if he has no say anymore. Canon tries to happen, but you get there first, so you kill the problem at it's source.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: MAZE SCENE; death, murder, violence, nongraphic smut, dominant felix, bathroom blowjob, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader being incredibly manipulative back at him, heavy drinking and drug use, You VIOLENTLY Murder Oliver Quick In The Maze.

A/N: 6074 words. oh god these oneshots are only getting longer and longer. whoops. but also PLEASE heed the warnings. this is the Reader Kills Oliver oneshot (first of two) that i was talking about. not sure how i feel about it. its very unedited.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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On the drive back from his parents' house, Oliver sits in the back. Like a scolded child he keeps his gaze low and voice even lower. None of you speak the entire drive back; you try and focus on the wind in your hair and the hum of the car and not how your stomach is turning. In your mind you see the connections as they light up, small things you'd missed, things that are starting to make a lot more sense.

You wonder what other lies you could have gotten ahead of if Oliver hadn't been so nervous about you going through his file at Oxford.

Every single thing about him was designed specifically to be appealing, to you, of course, but more importantly to Felix. It was meant to be you who knew it all, could see the full board and all the pieces the people around you moved; it was meant to be you who could plan well enough and see far enough out to keep Felix out of situations exactly like this.

Felix is curt and swift the moment he's out of the car, trying to escape Oliver who rushes after him, his desperation echoing through the halls. You're several steps behind Oliver, silent, watching the exchange, watching Oliver cling to an ever-dwindling hope for even friendship, as Felix calls out the weirdness of his ongoing lies, tearing that hope asunder.

"I just wanted to be your friend," is all Oliver can say when pressed about his lies. It's genuine, it breaks your heart, but it doesn't make it better. For a moment, you see conflict as it flashes across Felix's face, but he clearly can't do this right now, needing at least the night, but promising not to tell his family.

As you go to leave, go to follow him, Oliver catches your sleeve, holds it too tight for just a moment -

"I thought you knew," his voice wobbles, but there's something like alarm bells in the back of your mind. Everything about Oliver is purposeful, even now. But you know him, you know how he likes to play.

"No you didn't," you look at his fingers still coiled in your sweater, watch him drop them, "you knew I trusted you." You wouldn't let him shift this blame; the faint dismay you can see in his eyes behind the hurt gives him away. He knew Felix had more emotions than sense, but somewhere along the way he seemed to have forgotten that you were so much more than another adoring fan in Felix's shadow.

"'m sorry," stumbles from his mouth almost like a reaction to the look in your eyes, "for hurting Felix with all this, I- I never wanted that," he shakes his head, dropping his gaze, "or hurt you," tacked on as an afterthought. Both of you know where he was placing the importance of that apology. Everything Oliver Quick does is with purpose.

"I know you are, Oliver," you tell him, standing tall and unflinching as you left him alone.

"If you leave my side tonight I'm going to maim him," is how Felix greets you when you enter your room. Sitting on his bed, you see a little, ornate box open in front of him, and you recognise it as one of the few stashes he had around the estate for desperate times. This one, if you recall correctly, was shoved well beneath Henry the Eighth's bed, and had a decent amount of coke that you'd left here after last Christmas.

"Can't fucking believe- I can't fucking believe him!" He rants, cutting up lines of coke on the little hand mirror Venetia had donated to this particular stash box. Mind working a million miles a minute, you're quiet, letting him rant. Running on autopilot, you begin to strip down to your underwear, pulling out your costume for the night, frowning at it in the afternoon light.

"How complicated is your costume?" Felix asks, finally looking up, gazing over at you and the sheer, shimmering thing in your hands. Without a word, but with a vague shrug, you turn it to him.

The base was like something you'd see at a rave, little more than green underwear, with straps, and beading, and jewels, and loops of green and purple pearls by your hips that would bounce while you walked. The overcoat, though it was far to generous to call it that, was pure gossamer, sheer and green, with hand-stitched silk leaves making up the hem that fell perfectly to your ankles, and intricate, hand embroidery of vines that extended across both shoulders, and both arms, ending with little, purple flowers embroidered by your wrists.

There's large, brown boots with a bit of a hell and some large buckles, and a belt that's half a skirt that hit just below your knee to give you some coverage, at least on your left, sewn to look like it was covered in leaves. Plus a leather thigh harness and flask that Farleigh had gotten you made for your last birthday.

Leaning back, Felix reaches out to feel the gossamer between his fingers, frowning for a beat.

"Don't be precious about it."

For a moment, you frown in confusion. Despite your entire outfit being exquisitely and perfectly tailored, you knew you could afford to not be precious about pretty much anything, even this. But that's never been an outright request he's made.

"I'm not?"

Quiet follows, the soft rustle of your garments as you begin to get dressed, and Felix quickly snorting a line of coke.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind tonight," he mumbles. Even though you're half dressed, you still lean over his shoulder automatically as he lifts the mirror and the rolled bill up to you like an offering, holding the mirror steady for you.

"I need a drink," you groaned, to which Felix immediately agreed.

"God, why don't we stash anything in here?" He lamented, laying back and watching you head to the door once more while you're trying to do up your belt to hold up your partial leaf skirt, still without your overcoat.

"Because that's tacky and we're not alcoholics." Even with your explanation, Felix pouted. Still, it's a quick trip to the Blue Room and the bottle of rum you're glad Venetia hadn't found in the broken piano.

The night gets blurrier, gets better, with half a bottle of liquor in your veins before the sun even sets. As you're making yourself dreamy and ethereal with glitter and gems and makeup in the mirror, Felix drapes himself over your shoulders, pouting again. The drinks and drugs are already hitting you both and you can hear the revelry beginning outside.

"It's not going to last," he says pointedly, and you're confused until you see him trying to poke at the iridescent eyeliner that wasn't quite dry. Rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away. So he makes his point again, adding, "I'm going to get glitter all over me."

You smirked at him in the mirror, tipping your head against his.

"Don't be precious about it."

A spirit amongst the fairies, you greet your college friends with open arms and boundless enthusiasm, always keeping Felix close at hand. He was more subdued than you, more subdued than many of your friends were used to. Whenever you looked at him, it seemed like his gaze was searching, his expression drawn unless someone had caught his attention, and he wore a smile that seemed to convince them.

"Need a drink," his hand around your wrist and no time to protest, Felix dictated your night and it's pace. Frustration and apprehension keep him tense, even as he tries to loosen up; you feel every time that tension spikes, even if you don't know it's cause. His nails dig into you, wherever he's holding you, shoulder, thigh, arm -

In the bathroom, doing lines with India and some guys who claim to be friends of friends of the Cattons, you're leaning against the sink until you Felix nudge your knee with his own. Looking to the door, you see Oliver in white, taking up it's space. Felix only has to gently tap your thigh for you to shift, sitting in his lap.

"You can't ignore me forever," Oliver tells him, watching you both, watching the way Felix wraps an arm around your middle to hold you close and secure on him.

"I can try," Felix practically sings, his nails sinking into your stomach. With his free hand, he offers you his cigarette, raising it to your lips. You drop your gaze as you inhale, trying to only focus on keeping Felix secure in this moment.

"Felix we need to talk," Oliver insists, "Felix, come on man -"

"Look, man, I tried to be nice -" Felix started, and though you tried to gently warn him, pressing against him with Fi on your lips like you hope he won't say something he'll regret, he just holds you tighter and continues on, "but can you fuck off and bother somebody else?"

India half snorts with laughter in the middle of a line of coke, the others all judging Oliver the longer he lingers in the doorway, but Felix drops his gaze. His lips are on your shoulder to keep from saying anything else.

One of guys whose names you don't know asks who Oliver even was, but Felix can't answer; tension again, maybe anxiety or frustration, but his mouth moves from the gossamer and embroidery on your shoulder to your bare skin above the neckline, where your collar meets your throat. His teeth sting. His nails still sting. He swears under his breath before he lets go.

"Sorry," he mumbles finally, sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him it's okay, voice fond, but when you lean over to do another line of coke, you meet India's reproachful gaze. It takes you a long few seconds to connect the dots, to realise what was going on in her head. You're so fucking over everything tonight.

"You know Farleigh was lying to you about us, right?" You say casually, taking your line and sitting back up. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, "I know you think we're all gross and cousin-incest-y -" you hear Felix's faint laughter behind you, and feel him nudge you with his thigh, silently asking you to get up. Both of you do, and Felix manages his first proper smile of the night, even if it is smug.

"But we're not related," he tells her, "thank fucking god," and smacks your ass as the two of you exit, as if to just prove a point.

You're on your knees in a different bathroom when you hear everyone else start to sing happy birthday, but Felix's voice is a low growl of don't you dare stop, and his hands in your hair. Nothing else matters to you in this state of mind, blurry, pliant, desperate to follow his every command. It's as if you've forgotten what exists outside of Felix's hands on you.

The night becomes lights that are too bright, and music too loud, and laughter and glitter and the warmth of the people dancing around you. After a few hours you feel yourself starting to come down from your high, starting to come back to yourself, still on the dance floor. Venetia's dancing with a blonde boy, looking so pretty, like she's having a genuinely fun night, but when you point it out, Felix takes your hand.

"Don't look at Ven," there's that hunger in his eyes, that firm tone he'd been using all night, "don't touch Ven, don't -" he cuts himself off, wets his lips. Looking around for a moment, he spots something in the crowd that makes him scowl. Just a moment, as you follow his gaze, you see Oliver. The moment your eyes lock with his, however, Felix has his lips on your jaw.

"Fucking mine."

There's half a second where you and Oliver are still locked in this moment, you watch the way his expression starts to shift, jaw tensing, something like anger flickering in his eyes. But you can't bring yourself to give a shit about Oliver as Felix has his arms around you, kissing down your throat with a feverish, almost lewd intensity in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Prove it," and you let him drag you from the house, heading towards the place that had always felt a little special for you both, almost a little magical.

"I'm being selfish," Felix announced as you finally hit the tree line just before the maze, "I don't fucking care anymore, I'm being selfish, about you -!" He turns to look at you, only to see you gazing up at him with starry-eyes, hanging on his every word. He breaks into a sheepish grin momentarily, shaking his head as his voice drops for a moment, "oh, you're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"I want you so bad right now it's actually embarrassing," you agreed with a wide grin, unable to contain your laughter, despite how genuine the feeling was.

"I'm being selfish," he said once more, muttering it this time, though as you entered the maze and the moonlight peaked down upon you, you could see the blush still upon his cheeks, "I don't want anyone else to fucking touch you again, you hear me?" This time, when he looks at you, he thinks he can see hearts in your eyes; your overwhelming love and acceptance, even for this -especially for this- is making it very hard to keep the stern act up, except -

"Anything you say," you tell him, breathless as you approach the centre of the maze, voice edging on desperate, "anything at all." And you see it hits him just where it had needed to, to hear you wanting and wanton and offering yourself to him -

The gossamer overcoat is ruined, scratched all up the back where you're pinned against the statue, half sitting on the base with your legs around Felix's, your fancy green undergarments around one ankle. His nails scratch down the bare skin of your back, fucking into you with furious intent to match.

"You've always been mine," he groans into your ear.

"Felix -" you whimpered. Immediately he was grinning, lips inches from yours, gazing at you through his lashes.

"How's that proving anything?" He teases, low and knowing, and as his hips snap up to meet yours, you take the hint, his name getting louder and louder on your lips as you almost chant it, till his hand is between you both, helping get you off, and you're close and all but screaming his name and -

"Felix." Not from you. Oliver.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Felix immediately looks murderous, and not in a fun, sexy way. Oliver's demanding to talk to him while you struggle to pull your underwear back on.

"Could hear you out there," Oliver mumbles, half stumbling over his words, unable to look at you, focused on the dirt by your feet instead.

"Kind of the point, Ollie," you snapped, frustrated and now unsatisfied, but dressed once more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver?" Felix demanded. Oliver advances on him, presses into his space with desperate eyes and a bottle clutched to his chest. He doesn't look at you, he can't fucking look at you, you don't matter. It's Felix and his emotions who lead every situation the two of you share; it's Felix he has to win back over.

But he should have expected you not to leave, should have expected that when Felix pushed him away, shouted for him to get the fuck away, that you would try and step in.

"He's already got you on a leash, can I just have this one fucking moment?!" He snaps at you; he doesn't hit you but you recoil like he has, and Felix's gaze grows cold. Oliver seems to sense this before he even turns back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just- they already have everything -"

"Back off." Felix warns sharply, but Oliver can't help himself, won't listen.

"I just gave you what you wanted!" Oliver throws himself at Felix, pins him to the statue, their bodies flush and Oliver rambling, "like everyone else does! Everyone puts on a show for Felix..." his voice drops, childish and weak and wanting, and you watch him press himself closer as he turns gentle, "so I'm... I'm sorry if my performance wasn't good enough..."

"I think..." some part of it was working on Felix, his voice soft and placating, "I think you need to see somebody," or maybe he knows by now exactly how Oliver wants him to act; his eyes never leave Oliver's face, even when he doesn't let him go, "you need help okay, seriously -"

"No, no, I don't," Oliver's voice is rising again, "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you," a tremble in his voice, sounding so raw, so needy, "you're the only friend I ever had, Felix." The manipulation is so blatant it almost hurts; you don't matter to him in this moment, all that matters is saying exactly whatever Felix needs to believe.

"I mean, doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you?" That hope, that dangerous, heartbreaking note of hope that's going to make your skin crawl. But you're not leaving without Felix, and he's not leaving this moment it seemed, "I'm still the same person, yeah? I'm still the same person," he insisted.

A long few moments pass, Felix's gaze searching Oliver's face for something beyond you. But then, finally, his gaze slips to you. All you can do is shake your head.

"Don't-" Oliver murmurs faintly, tipping his head to try and block you from Felix's line of sight, but Felix turns his attention back, expression helpless.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes, "but I do know you; you make my fucking blood run cold."

The fight drains out of Oliver, as does every last drop of hope. He lets Felix push his hands away, makes himself give Felix space to breathe. After a beat, he looks back at you, unsteady on his feet, pain in his eyes, but then he lurches, quickly shoves his half-finished bottle into Felix's hands, and rushes away to be sick.

Oliver is doubled over, retching, when you get to Felix. Before he can raise Oliver's bottle to his lips, you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap him up in a hug. He's trembling, but you feel the bottle against your back. Felix tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tears unspilled, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Better?" You ask forlornly once Ollie had gone quiet.

"Fuck off," he spits, finally coming back around. You watch him over Felix's shoulder, and the glare he levels at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand is almost surprising. Still, you try and show the same compassion you knew Felix would in this moment.

"Wash the taste out of your mouth," you try and tell Ollie gently, moving carefully out of Felix's arms, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle he'd brought with him, "I think you should go to bed after." Oliver doesn't even reach for the bottle, but he does stop, looking between it, and then between you and Felix.

"Please," Felix sighs, head bent and bottle clasped tightly in his hand, "I need this."

"We can get another," you tell him quietly, calmly. Felix's gaze flicks to yours, imploring for just a moment, but dropping again when you don't relent. Felix sighs, once more, but finally relents, handing you over the bottle. Which Oliver has kept his focus on, brow now furrowing.

"I gave you everything else of mine, my drink's not even good enough for you anymore, like the rest of me?" He sneers, reaching unsteadily for the bottle in your hands, though his eyes and their focus betray him. Something lights up in the back of your mind, like one of those memories that made far more sense once Oliver's lie had been revealed. Alarm bells once again.

Felix stumbles to a halt -

"Fucking fine -" but as he tries to reach for the bottle again you step out of his range, beginning to see red as you got closer to Oliver, prickling with suspicion, "what is your problem, Y/N," Felix sounds so fucking tired, but all you can see is the deer of a boy before you growing wide eyed as he looks into yours.

"It's Oliver's," trying with all your might to not jump to conclusions, you hold the bottle out, desperately hoping that you'd connected the wrong dots, that Oliver was just drunk and as helpless as he appeared, that he couldn't be this malicious or vindictive-

"You want me to be sick again?" He tries to stand up to you, bottle pressed to his chest and refusing to step back even as you continue to crowd his space, "fuck off." He's seeming more sober, more alert, more with himself with each minute that passes. The distant noise of the party rings in your ears and all you can think about is the cold bottle between you and how Felix had almost -

"Leave him alone," Felix called out, footsteps in the grass sounding as though he was making his way back to the maze, "he's not worth it."

"He's pathetic," you spit, nose to nose with Oliver now, face heating up as hot, angry tears begin to close your vision. Still, you can see in Oliver's eyes that he's finding fewer and fewer ways to escape the situation.

"I don't care what either of youse think of me anymore," Oliver's lip curls as it quivers, trying to play distraught and callous all at once, "go fuck each other to feel like you're not just a fucking waste of space, vapid cunts -" he can see he's touched a nerve by the way your expression lights up with malevolent fury.

"Fi," there's a shake in your voice that you can't even fight, "please leave."

"Can you please come with me," Felix sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and when you turn, he's reaching for you, his hand shaking, "please can we go?" He begs.

An angel. Your best friend. Your everything. Your Felix.

Seeing him like this, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oliver's greed and jealousy would rather see Felix hurt than not in love with him, you couldn't let him get away with it. Finally you start to cry, even if you hadn't meant to, and the sight of it has Felix begging for you to leave with him. Oliver starts pushing, demanding that you both fuck off.

"Give me a minute, My Felix," you tell him, trying to smile, trying to reassure him, "I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't want you to see this," you turn back to Oliver with newfound resolution. He's stepped back, leaning himself against the statue, doubled over, head in his hands.

"See what?" Felix asks dubiously, and Oliver looks up, sees the way you're approaching him, and scrambles to straighten his posture.

"Ollie's going to have a little drink," you offer him the bottle again.

"Tryna make me sick again?" He snarls.

"Then use it to wash your mouth out, then swallow," you order coldly, "and repeat until the bottle's empty."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's just as perfectly fine as when you handed it to Felix," you hissed, voice low enough that Felix himself couldn't properly hear. Oliver narrowed his eyes, matching your tone.

"If I don't?"

"What I will do to you, Oliver Quick, will be much worse than whatever you've put in that bottle, so you'll drink it all up," you leaned in, whispering close and menacing, "and if you do throw it up, I will have you on your belly, like the worm you are, sucking your own sick off of the fucking ground."

"What the fuck is going on?" Felix demanded, and you turned, taking a deep breath and hopefully giving a much more convincing, determined smile.

"He made you cry."

Felix's expression immediately changed. All soft and fragile but understanding, he just asks that you don't be long. You promise not to be. Both you and Oliver watching him go.

Once in the clear, you turn back to your captive audience, keeping your voice low.

"I'm not going to make you drink it," you admit, and though Oliver's confused and on edge, he seems to relax, just a little.

"The fuck do you want from me then?"

"I just need to hear you say it," you step back from him, give him space, even step around to place the bottle at the foot of the statue and lean your forehead against the cool stone.

"Say what -?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Ollie," you groaned, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes, "you think I could hurt you? I ruin lives behind the scenes, I couldn't -" you flail your hands awkwardly, rocking back on your heels, turning to him properly once more. It appears to work, however, as Oliver is now only regarding you warily, instead of seeming actively cautious. "I was... hurt," you admitted, "I know why you said it, but I was hurt to hear you say Felix was your only friend."

"That's not -" he tried, defences lowering further as he attempted to defend himself.

"No, I get it; I've done terrible things because I love Fi, I couldn't imagine," you cast a pitying, apologetic look to Oliver, "him not loving me back."

And it works. He cracks, little by little. The tears begin to form, the lip starts to tremble.

"It's not fucking fair," it already sounds like there's a lump in his throat, "why do you deserve his love?" He scowls, "why can't I? I can be like you, I can be good -" he babbles, sniffling harshly amongst his defiantly sharp tone, "I know I could be," you gently wrap an arm around him and he fists a hand to tightly in your overcoat that it tears, "I was everything he wanted me to be -"

"I know, Ollie, I know," you carefully remove his antlers, holding them in one hand as you coax him in close, running a comforting hand through his hair.

"I wanted him to love me, I wanted- I never wanted him hurt, but wanted him dead so it wasn't my fault if he didn't love me; he couldn't love anyone -" he breaks down into furious tears, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I hate you, I hate that he loves you without you even trying -" there's no apology in his distress, even as he lets you hold him close, and you, for a few more moments, whisper reassuring nonsense. "I never wanted to hurt him," he mumbled softly, "but I wanted to kill him. I could never hurt him," there's anger and guilt in his eyes as he looks up at you, tear soaked and helpless, "but I wanted to hurt you." What you give him in return is pity, is sweetness and apology, but your blood is burning through your veins.

"You would have regretted it."

"I know..."

"Are you lying?"

"I think I am."

You have what you need, the confession, the intention; validation for your motivation. Hook, line and sinker.

"Hey, Ollie, Ollie, darling look at me, I know, okay, I know-" you try, taking his face in your free hand.

"No you fucking don't!" Oliver insists, but you keep insisting, "don't fucking take that tone, I just told you I was trying to kill Felix to hurt you -!" He thrashes, but your gentleness is unrelenting in this moment. You will give Oliver Quick what he deserves.

"Ollie, look at me, okay? Look me in the eyes, please -" you begged, and finally he did, despair and anger all there amongst the tears, "keep looking me in the eyes," you tell him gently, and firmly, and he does, too curious for his own good and wanting to see where this was going -

"Everything," you give him the faintest, reassuring smile, one hand on his face, shaking, messily wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb as he keeps your gaze, "is going to be -"

- and you ram one of his antlers into his soft, exposed belly with all your strength. Surprise and pain hit him all at once and suddenly he's scrambling, trying to get your hands off of the headpiece. But he's winded, and suddenly in overwhelming pain.

"- fine," you breathe out, shaking with adrenaline. You have him pinned against the statue, just like he'd had Felix only minutes ago.

"Eyes, Oliver," you ordered coldly, while making sure to keep smiling, even as fresh traitorous tears were gathering and already spilling down your cheeks. Hand in his hair coming to grip him tightly, keeping his gaze level with yours, "what did I say? I want you to look me in the eyes -" and you rip the antlers out before plunging them back into his gut. Lips twisting into an animalistic snarl involuntarily, Oliver splutters and fights and squirms but everything is becoming slippery, and warm, and slick with his blood. The antlers, your hands, and his; hard to get a grip like the firm one you had on your weapon of choice.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" he chokes out helplessly, bloody hands moving up, trying to grip your arms, your shoulders, your face, "how -fuck- why -?"

"Whatever you had in that bottle is too good for you; you tried to kill Felix, you said so yourself."

As his strength begins to fail, the way he holds your face turns tender, almost gentle, before his hands fall back to rest on yours, both gripping the bloody antler. Oliver's weight rests on the statue, watching you with despair and helpless, pained moans. Cheeks wet with tears, you can't even fathom how you're doing this, or who you will be once it's done.

"You are not the minotaur of this maze," you grit your teeth, leaning your weight on the headdress, driving it into his guts until the bloody antler snapped clean off of the headdress, you still can't bring yourself to stop. It doesn't feel like enough. He tried to kill Felix. So you took the other antler in hand, unable to stop yourself, shaking with rage and tears, "you are the dear in my fucking headlights; you tried to hurt Felix, you tried to kill Felix! You are nothing, nothing, nothing," you punctuate each nothing with another bloody, unnecessary jab until you can't keep going. The second antler collapses to the ground, and you stumble back, hands shaking.

"Didn't want to hurt him," Oliver insists weakly.

"You were someone we loved," you can see the first antler still jutting out of him, stemming the blood flow but undoubtedly causing excruciating pain. But you spare him no sympathy, only a look of absolute loathing, finally taking in what you've done, the blood your fury had shed. "Someone I loved!" Burst from you, raw brutal betrayal scraping its way from your throat, face hot and wet with tears, falling to your knees, looking up at him with an exhausted fury, "you will never hurt him again. I will never give you that chance."

But Oliver's quickly unfocusing gaze slips from you, rising to a point beyond you, out into the maze. A weak, faint, but somehow still triumphant smile works it's way across his lips.

"Him?"

Like in a horror movie, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. You hear when Oliver finally gives out, stop holding himself up on the statue and fall to the ground, but all you can see is Felix at the edge of the maze.

And that look in his eyes.

Oh god, what have you done?

"Felix," tears start welling in your eyes again, and finally he looks away from Oliver's body, his own antler protruding from him, slowly bleeding out, to you. From here, he can't see the blood on your hands, the blood that's all over you, but he can see it all over Oliver, "Fi, please, you need to -" but he's stepping towards you, almost automatically; he looks ill. You have to look away, can't bear for him to see what your rage has brought about.

"I'm not," his words are robotic, still a bit slurred, and he keeps looking at Oliver, "going without you. 'said that." But he stops behind you. Eyes closed, you wait, you can't bear to even look at him. Then, slowly, he moves. When you breathe, it makes you shake, but you slowly open your eyes.

Felix approaches Oliver. You watch the faint, far away smile wears as he sees Felix up close once more.

"Fe-lix," he sighs faintly, reaching out with weak, shaking, bloody hands, feather light finger tips leaving red streaks along Felix's cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Felix's head dips in close, into Oliver's aching touch, his forehead resting against Oliver's in this moment.

"You were going to fucking kill me, Ollie?" Felix whispered through clenched teeth, on the edge of tears.

"'m sorry," Ollie mumbled weakly, shock and blood loss catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, "didn't want to hurt you."

"You wanted to kill me -"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"It would have hurt them!" Felix grabbed him by the collar with one hand, wrenching the dying boy up enough to see him pointing at you, still kneeling on the ground, second bloody antler laying in front of you. All Oliver could do was make a pained whimper, and Felix dropped him back to the ground, "and you said it yourself-" his voice is venomous, but your breath catches as you realise just how much he must have heard to know that, "and even having a thought like that," he snarls, hatred burning in his eyes, "means you don't fucking know me at all."

Felix is by your side in the very next moment, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the base of the sculpture. You're sobbing into your bloody hands, nothing else to do or say. Even as he's shaking, as he's crying too, Felix doesn't let you go, doesn't let you feel anything but secure with him.

"You saw it all, didn't you?" You whispered finally, and feel him nod.

"I said I wouldn't leave without you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -" and while he tells you that you don't have to be, the words, the fears, the desperate justifications and rationalisations pour out of you, "he said he was trying to kill you, Fi, and I couldn't- I should have walked away, just gotten him kicked out or taken away or- or- but I couldn't," you gasped, "I couldn't let him ever have that kind of chance again, I couldn't risk that, my mind wouldn't let me -"

"I know, I love you," Felix murmurs weakly, his forehead against your shoulder once more, "dad and Duncan will know what to do, they'll take care of it tomorrow," he sounds so young in this moment, so tired and fragile. You nod quietly, leaning into him. When his hands find yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tightly, Oliver's blood is still sticky on your skin. Neither of you seems to care.

"How did you know something was so wrong?" Felix finally asked, the air cooler and quieter now. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it sounds as though the party was winding down. Oliver's party.

"He wasn't that drunk," you said after a long moment of deliberation, "could see it in his eyes," taking a deep breath, you cast your gaze to the guest of honour, completely still, chest no longer shifting with shallow, frantic breathes, "if he wasn't drunk, why was he sick?" Sighing, you leaned into Felix. You felt so hollow; "everything Oliver Quick did, he did with purpose."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #saltburn smut #saltburn fanfiction #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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dramaticals · 6 months

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you're too good for him - chapter two.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: you're theo's best friend and he's secretly pining over you... but you have a boyfriend. modern au.

author's note: truly was not going to make a part two, but i feel like there's angst to be had and i love a good slow burn, so perhaps you can expect a part three if there's interest.

✧ read: part one ✧

Of course you noticed his absence.

After the night you came knocking on Theo's door and you'd spent the night nuzzled in the warmth and familiarity of his strong embrace, it felt like the rusted gears of your friendship were finally oiled up and turning again. You spent most of your time with Theo, opting to spend your free time with him instead of your boyfriend, who had yet to apologize for his actions. Cormac claimed he was just trying to pass his class and it meant nothing, but there were far better options available than resorting to flirting with the TA.

Cormac's mistake was Theo's gain.

The next couple of days felt like you were transported back into a time when life was simple. When all you had to worry about was whether Theo would trade you his homemade sandwich for your lunchable and whether it was your turn to pick the movie that night or his.

Cormac came to his senses on the sixth day.

You were studying in the library with Theo, shoulders brushing together as he quizzed you on natural nutrients for your upcoming final. Theo was determined to help you pass, even going so far as to bringing your favourite sweets as a reward for answering correctly. Of course, there was the added challenge of having to catch said reward with your mouth as Theo tossed it into the air. Whenever you managed to catch it, Theo would flash you a cheeky grin, and it made you all the more proud for answering correctly. You always loved the way he smiled. He didn't do it often anymore.

Just as Theo lined up for another toss, shutting one eye for maximum aiming (which elicited a giggle out of you), Cormac tapped you on the shoulder.

You turned to face your boyfriend, your eyes immediately drawn to the bouquet of red roses, haphazardly packaged in a thin plastic film, in his hands.

"Y/N, will you go to the end-of-year gala with me?" Cormac asked. He bent down onto one knee, shoving forward the bouquet of flowers for you to take. "I'm sorry about what I did. Truly. And I'll make it up to you if you go to the gala with me. I swear it."

Cormac looked at you with as much sincerity as he could muster. For a moment, you just looked between him and the flowers, your mouth stupidly agape.

Theo watched in stunned silence. The cheeky grin that had found its way back to his face had twisted into a frown. Like Cormac, Theo was waiting for your answer. He hung onto every second of silence like it was the only lifeline of hope—hope that you would finally see through lover boy's cheesy and insincere gimmicks and finally say no.

"Yes," You say, and you pull Cormac into a side embrace so as not to squish the bouquet. He'd never gifted you flowers before, and plans to preserve them went rampant in your mind.

The excitement of Cormac and flowers distracted you, and you didn't notice Theo pack up his things and take off, leaving the opened box of your favourite sweets in his place.

The gears of your friendship rusted over again. If not for the small smiles of acknowledgement he gave you in passing, you rarely saw him. He'd mumble excuse after excuse as to why he couldn't stick around for long. He even stopped opening his door for you, claiming he had fallen asleep early or that he was just too engrossed in his studies to have heard you at the door.

The sudden loss of Theo's presence, especially after days spent by his side again, felt like someone had withdrawn an oxygen source. You were alive, but just barely.

You didn't think anything of it though. You knew Theo liked his solitude, and he always came back to you when he was ready. You weren't worried.

As days passed, Theo kept up the busy facade. It wasn't until you caught him turning on his heels as soon as he spotted you across the servery that you realized that this time was different. He was avoiding you.

For the rest of the day, you racked your brain for clues and signs to explain your best friend's behaviour. As you lay pensively in bed, you cursed yourself for not noticing it all sooner. The eye rolls, snarky remarks, and frowns whenever Cormac was brought up or was in close proximity played through your mind. Of course.

You knew exactly how to fix this.

Theo's dorm wasn't far from yours. Just two levels up using the elevator, and you were outside his dorm room, knocking with new-found determination. You weren't leaving until he opened up.

"Theo, I know you're in there."

From the slit on the bottom of his door, you see a shadow stop in its tracks.

"I promise I won't take long."

The door opens, but only enough to fit Theo's tall frame. It wasn't enough for you to slip through as usual. It wasn't an invitation inside.

"I'm busy," Theo starts.

"No, you're not. I can smell the burnt popcorn from down the hall." You cut him off, knowing he was probably watching a movie.

Theo had a strange habit of burning popcorn. He'd claim it brought out a sophisticated flavour that you just don't understand, but you knew it was really because he relied on the popcorn button too much—a button that was lacking on all the microwaves at your university.

Theo sighs, opens the door, and retreats back into his dorm. While it hadn't been long since you were last here, it felt like you were stepping onto sacred grounds. Your eyes glance around his room, catching sight of his disheveled bed, messy side table, and the paused movie. Stacks of books and loose papers littered his floor. Some crumpled, others tossed aimlessly near the trash can.

"I know why you've been avoiding me." You announce, turning to face Theo. You cross your arms over your chest, standing firm in your statement. Theo avoids your gaze.

"Who says I've been avoiding you?"

"I'm not an idiot, Theo. I have eyes, you know."

This makes him tense. You expected a playful quip about your need for occasional reading glasses (proving how faulty your eyes could be), but it didn't come. Instead, his jaw tightens, and he visibly looks uncomfortable—no, panicked. Like he just got caught for doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"So, I took it upon myself to fix this." You continue, stepping closer to the boy. His eyes finally lock onto yours, and you can see the flicker of curiosity and hesitance flash across his soft, arctic green eyes.

"I found you a date for the end-of-year gala."

"You what?" Theo's tone is sharp. The softness in his gaze vanishes in an instant, replaced with a darker, unreadable expression. Anger, hurt, betrayal. You don't notice it.

"I found you a date," you say again. "I know how hard you've been studying and I'm sure you haven't had a chance for a real break yet—binge watching movies doesn't count, by the way. And with me and Cormac going to the gala when we—" You gesture between yourself and Theo "—usually go together, I figured I'd take it upon myself to find you a lucky lady so we can all go together. Like a double date. And I promise, she's gorgeous. I think she's actually in one of your classes, too. Her name's Daphne."

Theo looks at you with such stoicism that you wonder if he even processed the great news you just delivered. His lips twitch into a frown.

"So, what do you think? Will you come?"

"I'm not particularly in the mood for a fucking gala, Y/N." Theo scoffs. His eyes roll before meeting your gaze. His scorching glare burned into you like a woman scorned. "And I don't appreciate you going rogue and asking a girl out on my behalf. I'm capable of doing so myself if I wanted to." If he wanted to. And he didn't. At least, not Daphne.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked her for you, but I just really wanted you to come," you try to explain. "She seems like such a sweet girl, and you're such an amazing guy... I just figured I would nudge you two in the right direction, you know? And we'd all have so much fun together. It could be like old times. Cormac's going to rent a limo and everything."

Theo has to hold back another eye roll. Old times meant you and Theo. Not you, Theo, Cormac, and Daphne. Spending a whole night bearing witness to your and Cormac's love fest, surrounded by peers he didn't care for, sounded like his own personal hell.

"Please, Theo," you plea, hopeful eyes searching his rigid ones. "I really missed you. It'd mean a lot to me if you came."

Theo's icy exterior cracks at your words. How pathetic he felt, letting the fact that you missed him, dictate what he said next. His feeble, lovesick little heart practically jumped at your words.

"Fine," Theo grumbles with a sigh. He'd endure the sight of you and Cormac all night, even if it made him sick, all because you said you missed him. "I'll go."

tag list: if you'd like to be added to my theodore tag list, please let me know!

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theo nott fanfic #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #*writing

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so-mordor-itis · 1 year

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Through Her Eyes

Synopsis: Ada observes you and Leon as you trek through the village and castle of Los Illuminados, only to realize he wasn't her little loyal pup anymore.

A/N: I wanted to try something different! I saw a lot of people writing jealous reader or jealous Leon, but I was like "No one has done an Ada POV yet, I could give it a shot. I might do a part 2 with the rest of the game if you guys would like!

Read the sequel here!

Taglist:

@izuniias , @spookluckpuck , @uhlunaro , @inaflashimagine , @amatxs , @aussiepineapple1st , @honeysoakedbandages , @boundinparchment , @tosuckmyweenis , @airanke

It was interesting, watching you two communicate. Leon had this way of shrugging his shoulders whenever he spoke, sometimes tossing his arms into the air to somehow solidify his point. You, on the other hand, were a bit carefree with your body language, Ada noticed. Quite the opposite to your companion. Perhaps it was because you were more comfortable with him, maybe you have worked with him for a longer time than she estimated. You two were discussing a plan, but Ada couldn’t get the absolute details. If she did, she would’ve most likely been seen–at least heard. The environment was rough and rocky, full of sticks and branches that easily could be broken or snagged against her outfit. She knew better.

Though she did catch a brief moment with you two when she was forced to get closer–she had grabbed her binoculars to observe some of the villagers ahead, they were carrying pitchforks and axes, glancing around like mindless dogs. How cute, such obedient little pups.

“We could split up, maybe we’d find Ashley easier that way.” You suggested, maybe adding a shrug of your own shoulders.

“No, I don’t think splitting up would be the best idea,” Leon said instantly. Ada felt her chest coil at the sound of his voice. It was deeper now, more scratchy, rugged. He had definitely seen more than what he was forced to at Raccoon City. She figured that would be the case, now being the President’s little weapon, being kept under his nose for his every beck and call. Wesker made sure to do some research on him, in case he would be a nuisance in the process of delivering the amber. You, on the other hand, were a new, unexpected addition. Perhaps another lackey the President kept hidden. But Ada couldn’t help wondering why only two people? The President’s daughter was taken here, wasn’t she? She would’ve thought Daddy would come to collect his little girl as soon as he could with an army of men at the ready. Or, he’s truly that worried for his image and was desperate to keep this under wraps because of what was at this location.

“Stuck to me like glue, huh?” You quipped. Ada heard Leon scoff, the sound of a gun being reloaded echoed throughout the area.

“I’d rather you be here than in the dirt somewhere I can’t see.” Protective, she noted. Interesting. You two must’ve been friends, at least. Then again, what did she know? He could’ve been like this with a lot of people. He definitely had a habit of being friendly, of asking questions.

“Hunnigan said the path to the lake was beyond a windmill, right? Then I guess that’s our destination.”

Ada cursed under her breath before launching herself off the roof of one of the houses. She would’ve been out in the open, easily spotted. She hunched over a barrel, checking her own guns. A few bullets had been used earlier when she rang the church bell. She didn’t know what compelled her to come back to the village area, but she found herself here, observing. Too late to complain now, the damage was done. She would book it for a different direction the moment you two were out of sight.

She poked her head out slightly, watching as your shadows came into view and then your figures. She had stopped paying attention to what you two were talking about, that wasn’t in her job description. Though she couldn’t help eyeing Leon for a second longer. His physique had certainly changed, too. He had more muscle, his eyes were tired, small gray circles under them. You were trailing behind him, holding your pistol with a tight grip. Ada noticed your eyes darting back and forth, now extremely cautious. From what she could note, you were the observer type and she had to be extra alert for anything that could cause a sound.

“Wait,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “There’s a path up ahead.” You started trekking towards it, footsteps were heavy with movement. You were in a hurry. Leon seemed to be startled slightly but quickly followed suit. Ada felt a smirk forming on her lips. He was following you so fast, like a lost puppy, just as he did with her. You had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even realize it. Ada was convinced if Leon had a tail, it would surely be wagging. He was under your spell.

“Still a good boy, huh Leon?” Ada murmured to herself.

–

After saving Leon from nearly being crushed to death by a taller man–Luis called him the ‘big cheese’ of the village–Ada had lost track of you two by the time night fell across the village. This was good. It allowed her to carry through with the delivery of the amber with no trouble. No more distractions.

At least, until Luis found himself caught in between two messes.

From a rock, Ada discovered what seemed to be a battle for survival in a nearby, abandoned house. She noticed your figure and then Leon’s, and then her little carrier pigeon. You three were scrambling around one another, fighting off Gnado after Gnado, scraping by with the skin of your teeth. Ah, she would’ve helped, surely, but she had bigger priorities. She knew Luis could handle himself and if it truly was time for her to rescue someone she’d do what she needed to. She had at least one grenade she could spare if she truly had to.

It wasn’t necessary, you three pulled through somehow. Ada had told Leon he had some unique version of dumb luck, and it seemed it still carried through.

Luis found her later, desperate to catch his breath. She reminded him of the deal, of the amber. He was annoyed, clearly, but he knew what he had to do.

Once Ada arrived at the castle, she started to notice some little attributes of you and Leon. The both of you were a good team–you have saved him countless times, pulling him towards you when an axe was about to slice his throat, shooting over his shoulder when he couldn’t see an enemy. Ada had to admit you were skilled, and it was no wonder you two were there to protect little Miss Graham. The girl was petrified of the whole thing. She reminded Ada of a doe-eyed lamb, sheltered from the dangers of the world until only recently.

Before Ada encountered Leon in the castle, she had accidentally found you two–not three, the girl must’ve been taken away, the two of you probably running yourselves ragged trying to retrieve her again. Ada quickly hid in a spot she knew she wouldn’t be found. You had requested Leon stop for a second, sliding down the wall of a hallway to catch your breath.

“You alright?” Leon asked softly.

“Just peachy,” you snapped, gritting your teeth once first aid spray hit raw skin. You had an open wound, skin sliced open, red flowing to the floor. “Sorry, it just hurts like hell.”

“No, I get it,” Leon said he didn’t have much on him but guns and some herbs, but Ada watched as he grabbed a tablecloth from one of the stands. “Surely they wouldn’t mind if we borrow this?”

You looked at him with big eyes full of gentleness and wonder, of awe and inspiration, the same way he had to her, and she realized that it wasn’t just Leon that was under a spell. Though you immediately hardened your gaze when you realized he was now looking at you.

“There, that should hold you. For a while, I’d hope. Wouldn’t want you to bleed on their fancy carpet.”

“Oh, the horror.” You feigned concern.

Did you two even realize you were flirting? Did you even realize that when you were scourging through your bag, Leon had a softer look on his face? Was watching you with such intent, with such curiosity?

Ada sighed, loading her pistol. She wouldn’t be able to drag him with her this time, but that was fine.

She could find some other way.

#resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil imagines #resident evil #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x y/n #leon x you #ada wong #ada wong resident evil

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bellaxgiornata · 23 days

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The Devil at Your Window |5: Looking Out for the Devil|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Y'all get a little Matt POV in this update! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock

Monday Night

Shifting all of the bags you were carrying over to your left hand, you tried to stick your key into the lock of your apartment door. It took you a few attempts to even get it into the lock just right because your focus was mostly on the three heavy bags you were currently trying to hold in your left hand while your left leg pressed another bag against the door in an attempt to keep it from falling and spilling its contents all over the hallway floor.

It was a minute before you finally managed to unlock the door, stuffing your key back into your coat pocket before swinging it open. You gathered up all of the bags in both of your hands afterwards before awkwardly shuffling into your apartment. Once you’d managed to lug everything inside, you reached a foot out behind yourself and kicked the door shut. With a relieved sigh, you dropped all the bags to the floor at your feet before leaning back against the wall behind you, your arms aching and sore from the trek home tonight.

“That was more work than I expected,” you muttered to yourself.

You took a minute to catch your breath, running a hand over your forehead as you continued to rest your back against the wall. Your heart was racing after having carried all those bags for a few blocks and then having toted them all the way up to your apartment. As you rubbed your sore biceps, you quickly remembered why you always had most of your groceries delivered.

With another sigh you eventually bent over, beginning to undo the zippers of both of your winter boots before you peeled them off your legs and set them on the entry rug by your door. Straightening back up, you locked your door before tugging your coat off of yourself next, hanging it on the nearby hook. Then turning around, you once more grabbed onto all of the bags you'd dropped before heaving them up into your hands one last time, carrying them all the way over to your kitchen counter before dropping them down with a grunt.

Reaching into a bag, the first thing you pulled out was the storage bin and its lid that you’d just purchased this evening. You set it onto the counter beside yourself and pulled the lid off, hoping you weren't about to make a complete ass out of yourself with what you were planning on doing with it.

“Really hope all this food doesn't end up going to waste,” you said to yourself. “But someone needs to make sure you're staying fed and hydrated out there because I know you sure aren't.”

The first thing you wanted to focus on filling the container with was the bottles of water you'd bought. Pulling the grocery bag stuffed full of them towards yourself, you began to pull out multiple bottles as you focused on neatly lining them up on one side of the container. You even added a few extra to the bin since you weren't sure just how many the Devil might need in a night.

As you worked on filling the container with water, you desperately hoped they wouldn't be frozen bottles of water whenever he potentially managed to stop by your place. You hoped putting the bin out onto your fire escape before you went to bed later at night and bringing it back inside in the morning would help to resolve that issue depending on when he showed up. But at least when it became warmer in a few weeks the water bottles freezing wouldn't be an issue anymore–because you certainly still planned to keep stocking this bin for him for as long as he'd be running around the city at night keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. It felt like the least you could do.

After the water bottles were situated in the bin, you began pulling out all of the food that you'd purchased from the store after work, taking everything out of the bags and setting them all onto your counter. You quickly set to work tearing open all of the boxes before you began to pull out multiple different packages of food. Working methodically, you neatly stacked the protein bars on top of each other beside packets of trail mix, sticks of jerky, and granola bars in the bin. As you filled the bin, you briefly wondered what snacks were the Devil’s favorite. Would he ever actually tell you so that you could add them to this bin, or would consider that to be too personal of information to share with you, too?

While you knew it wasn't possible to feed the mysterious man an actual meal every night, and you knew that you wouldn’t always be home with a fresh cooked meal all the time, either, you figured maybe if he was aware of the food and water you left out for him like the stray you were affectionately beginning to see him as, he'd find a minute to make his way past your apartment and grab something from the bin on occasion. Because you assumed that he most likely didn't have time to stop by and chat with you every time he was out, but at least this way he might be able to eat something . And you might finally be able to stop worrying about him just a little bit knowing he wouldn't go to bed hungry at night, which was what you figured he currently did and that thought had been bothering you since you'd met him. You hoped this bin of food and water would at least help resolve that some nights.

With the bin finally filled, another idea struck you. Turning around in your kitchen, you began to rifle through your kitchen drawers looking for your pad of post-it notes and a pen. Eventually you discovered both in your junk drawer before bringing them over to an open space on your counter. Smiling to yourself, you wrote out a brief message before peeling off the post-it note and sticking it inside the bin. You let yourself take a moment to admire how neat and tidy everything looked while wondering what the Devil himself might actually make of stumbling on your little Devil’s Pantry. You only wished you could see his reaction when he eventually saw it.

Grabbing the lid from beside the container, you set it back on top and sealed everything up safely inside so the rain and snow wouldn’t ruin the packages of food. You picked up the container and stepped around your kitchen counter, dropping it off on your table beside the window that led to your fire escape. You mentally reminded yourself that you’d need to set it outside for him later tonight before you went to sleep.

With your task for the evening finally completed, you headed through your living room and down the hall, making your way to your bedroom with every intention of getting out of your work clothes and relaxing for the rest of the night. Though the Devil admittedly wasn’t far from your mind.

Tuesday Night

Matt flung himself over the dividing gap and onto the next rooftop, losing his footing and stumbling slightly as he landed on top of the building. He was exhausted from his night out tonight, his body worn and beaten and his injured rib still not fully healed from the other week. Running around in the cold tonight hadn’t been helping his body either, his muscles already growing stiff from how long he’d been out this evening in the thin layer of clothing he had on.

But yet as he was making his way back towards his own apartment, ready to end the night, he found himself already planning to stop by your place first. He wasn't entirely sure what time it was at the moment or if you were even still awake, but he was curious to drop by your fire escape and find out. It had been a rough night, but the prospect of hearing your bright voice and your entertaining quips were drawing him towards your apartment like a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that sometimes felt like Hell’s Kitchen on some of his nights out. He couldn’t seem to resist the pull he had towards your place, especially not after what he’d already been dealing with this evening.

Jogging across the length of this rooftop, his breath growing ragged from exertion, he could hear the change in the wind as he neared the edge of the building. Gritting his teeth together before he leapt across, he braced himself for the impact. Once more he stumbled as he landed onto the top of your building, letting out a grunt of pain as his rib throbbed miserably at the jolt. He paused for a minute, wincing as his gloved hand reached down, covering the sore area along his side. Someone had managed to get a decent punch there not too long ago which certainly hadn’t helped, either.

When the sting of pain began to fade enough, he carefully paced his way towards the edge of the roof on the side of the building where he knew your fire escape was located. Once more bracing himself for the series of sharp impacts he was about to endure as he dropped down, he grit his teeth and knelt down on the rooftop before deftly flinging himself over the side of it. He landed solidly on the fire escape below, his injured side already protesting his actions. Ignoring the pain, he rose back up and gripped onto the metal railing of this fire escape before easily throwing himself over once more and onto your fire escape just below.

With a relieved sigh now that he knew he could take a momentary breather, he rose back up to his feet and focused his senses on your apartment, attempting to ignore the growing ache along his ribs. His head canted to the side as he approached your window, catching the even and soft sounds of your breathing from inside. He realized you were in fact asleep just as the toe of his right boot knocked into something on the metal landing.

Matt instantly paused, taking a step back as confusion crossed his features beneath his mask. His head darted down in surprise towards whatever he’d kicked, his body pausing for just a moment. Then curiously he lowered into a crouch on your fire escape, wondering what the mysterious object sitting outside of your apartment could be. Nothing should have been out here.

Gloved hands reaching out, he began to feel the object before himself. It was solid and rectangular. After a moment he thought it strangely felt like a container, and if he focused closely enough, he smelled…

“Food?” he whispered in disbelief.

His brows knitted together in deeper confusion, his head tilting to the side once more as one of his hands removed the lid. The unmistakable scent of beef jerky, granola, nuts, peanut butter, and dried fruit hit his nose.

Matt took a moment to remove his gloves, setting them on the fire escape beside his boots as his brows remained tightly knit together behind his mask. He slowly reached his hands back into the container only to have his fingers brush against what felt like a post-it note. He picked it up, running his fingers along the indentation of pen marks carefully a couple of times. Eventually he managed to make out what you'd clearly written as a note for him. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips beneath the mask as he ran his fingertips over the pen marks, reading your message to him again.

Take whatever you need from the Devil’s Pantry. And please DRINK SOME WATER (if it's not frozen). Your kidneys will thank me.

He laughed lightly to himself, very aware of the way you'd emphasized the part about drinking water. You'd even underlined that section besides writing it in all capitalized letters. You certainly were concerned about his kidneys, weren't you?

“Devil’s Pantry, huh?” he murmured to himself in amusement.

He reached his hands inside the container, a grin on his mouth as his fingertips inevitably met the plastic of a water bottle. He pulled one out, noting it was fairly chilled to the touch but not yet frozen. You must have set this container on your fire escape for him not too long ago. Possibly before you'd gone to sleep. Something warm and unfamiliar filled him at the thought as he twisted off the lid and began to drink down the water. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little thirsty.

You were a curiosity to Matt. Surprisingly quite trusting of the Devil, a man you didn't even know, who spent his free time lurking the city at night and beating the shit out of criminals. Yet you oddly seemed to admire him for it. And for some reason you kept going well out of your way to help him ever since you'd accidentally met him that evening when he'd fallen onto your fire escape in a snowstorm. Your care and concern for him was something that he just couldn’t begin to understand from a stranger. Or a possible friend, he supposed.

And what he found even odder than your kindness towards him was the fact that you were attracted to him. It was almost impossible for him to ignore with the way your body practically screamed it at him whenever he showed up–especially that time he’d shown up and you’d undressed him and kept him warm. He’d been very aware of your attraction to him then as you sat in his lap. Matt would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t also intentionally done things to see if he could increase your heart rate sometimes, whether it was flirting with you or stepping a bit too close into your personal space. Your body always reacted and he found it interesting. Certainly no one else ever reacted to the Devil like that when he was out. Only you. Everyone else in the city was afraid of him, even those he rescued elicited the scent of fear.

But you were different.

Maybe it was because his blood was always still running a little hot from his time out as the Devil after the things he'd done that night, or maybe it was the constant physical activity as he raced around the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, but he couldn't deny that it excited him a little whenever he felt the way you reacted to this side of him when he showed up at your window. Because you didn't know who he was, and he didn't really know who you were, either. You didn't even know what he really looked like since he had never removed his mask, putting the pair of you almost on equal footing for the first time in his life. Which was…exhilarating, in a sense.

You were somehow attracted to what he considered the darker side of himself. The side he always kept hidden and sometimes even felt ashamed existed. It was a side that was not Matt Murdock–the kind and charming lawyer by day who helped those in need in a different way in Hell’s Kitchen. The side everyone knew him as because the Devil didn't have friends. Except for maybe Claire. Though you were the only one drawn to the side he kept a secret, a side Foggy didn't even know about and Claire had very much rejected. But you seemed to care about him anyway, even when he was injured and covered in someone else's blood. Somehow still wanting to take care of him, still worried about him. And there was something very curious about that.

As Matt reached a hand out, grabbing a stick of jerky and tearing it open, he reminded himself that that was all this was between the two of you. Your strange desire to help Hell’s Kitchen's vigilante and his strange desire to keep appearing at your window. Maybe for the possibility of a friendship to form between you both because deep down he did feel a little alone at night even if he would never admit it. But there was nothing more than that between you both. Because there never could be anything more. Not without you knowing who he actually was, and that was something that he'd absolutely never reveal to you no matter how many slip ups he had. You would never know the Devil was actually Matthew Murdock, which meant nothing more could ever pass between you two than the fleeting moments you had together in the evenings.

Quickly devouring the stick of jerky, he grabbed another bottle of water and what seemed to be a protein bar before he put the lid back on the container. If you were going to leave him snacks, he wasn't going to let them go to waste. As you already seemed to know and were perpetually bothered by, he certainly wasn't about to go home and find anything to eat in his apartment before he collapsed in his bed.

Positioning the water and bar in the crook of his arm, he began to descend the fire escape, making his way down towards the alley. His apartment wasn't that far from yours thankfully, only a block over and across the street. You lived so close to him that truthfully, if he had wanted to eavesdrop on you as Matt Murdock while he was home because maybe you’d crossed his mind during the day, he absolutely could.

But of course, that would be wrong in more ways than one and he absolutely wasn’t going to do that.

Wednesday Morning

The shrill sound of your phone alarm cut through the dream you'd been having, pulling you back to consciousness. You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as your left hand darted out of the warmth of your sheets, feeling around the nightstand beside your bed in search of your phone. Eventually your fingers found it and you picked it up, unburying your head from your pillow and squinting at the bright screen in your dark bedroom.

Turning off the irritating alarm, you dropped your phone back onto the nightstand with a loud clatter before burying your face back into your pillow. You definitely didn't feel like leaving the comfort and warmth of your bed to go and get ready for work. Another miserable groan left you at just the thought of getting up, the sound muffled in the fabric of your pillow.

But then your body stiffened as you remembered the container on your fire escape. The Devil hadn't seemed to stop by Monday night when you'd first set it out because when you'd brought it back inside yesterday morning nothing appeared to have been removed. You'd been a little disappointed at the sight but you reminded yourself that he was probably busy. Or maybe he hadn't been out that night. Or he may not have even made his way over to this side of Hell’s Kitchen.

Or maybe he thought you were weird and creepy for suddenly leaving him food and water out like he really was a stray cat and now he was avoiding you.

But despite that fear, you found yourself hopeful this morning. Maybe he'd stopped by last night and finally discovered your little Devil’s Pantry filled with snacks and had actually been pleasantly surprised. You certainly hoped so.

Pushing yourself upright, you threw the sheets off of yourself and quickly jumped out of bed. In barely contained excitement that would have been embarrassing if anyone else had witnessed it, you hurried out of your room and down the hallway, making your way through your living room and over towards the window. Unlocking it, you pushed it up before leaning out of it into the freezing February morning air to grab the container. You turned and set it on the kitchen counter beside you before quickly closing the window and locking it once more.

Focusing your attention back on the container, you shivered at the lingering chill from the open window as you removed the lid. A smile quickly drew itself across your mouth at the contents inside. Two water bottles were definitely missing and your post-it note had been moved. It also looked like a couple of snacks had been taken as well.

Still smiling in satisfaction to yourself and refraining from letting out a pleased squeal, you realized he had stopped by sometime last night when you were asleep and had found the snacks you’d left for him. You wondered what he'd thought when he'd found it. Did he think it was strange? Was he grateful? Did he not care at all? Though what had you even more curious was another couple of questions that soon arose in your mind.

How often had the Devil actually been stopping by your place and you had never known before because you were asleep or not home? And why did he keep coming back?

Making a mental note to stop by the store after work later today and pick up some ibuprofen to stick in the container with the food, you placed the lid back onto it. The Devil had told you the other night that he was often out even when he was injured. You’d had a sneaking suspicion that if he didn't keep much food in his apartment, his medicinal supplies might not be so well stocked either. He could probably use something to help with the pain he seemed to always be in, especially because you had a strong feeling he didn't sit down and do that weird meditation thing every night to heal himself. He seemed like he barely took care of himself as it was, too focused on helping everyone else, so you doubted he spared the extra time for that unless he really needed it.

But you were determined to make sure someone was looking out for him in Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned and set the container on your kitchen counter before making your way around it and over towards your coffee machine. As you turned it on, your disappointment at having missed the chance to interact with him last night was replaced by the knowledge that he'd yet again come back to your place for whatever reason. You took pleasure in knowing that you’d been able to help him even if you hadn’t been able to see him. But as you began to brew a cup of coffee, you knew he’d be on your mind all day today. Because now you found yourself wondering what it was that kept bringing him back to your apartment over and over.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fanfic

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whimsigothwitch · 8 months

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Mabon apple pie recipe

In celebration of Mabon next week, I am sharing my favorite apple pie recipe. I chose to share this a week in advance so that those who want to make it can prepare the ingredients. All ingredients can be plant-based, for those who are vegan the egg is not necessary (you may need to add a little more butter)

Witchy tips during baking:

Mix clockwise and say your intentions for the cake out loud, this could be "I welcome abundance into my life with open arms.", "I embrace the blessings of the harvest and celebrate the abundance it brings." or if you plan to share the pie with friends and family: "May this pie nurture the bonds of love and friendship among us."

When you sprinkle the spices into the cake, do this clockwise and say each correspondence out loud as you do this: Cinnamon: for love, and warmth Cardamom: for attraction and harmony Nutmeg: for prosperity and luck

Carve sigils of choice in the bottom of the pie before adding the filling.

Ingredients For the dough: 500 grams plain flour 1 sachet (15 grams) baking powder 150 grams of white caster sugar 50 grams of light brown caster sugar 150 grams of melted butter 1 egg Pinch of cinnamon, cardamom and nutmeg

For the filling: 1-1.5 kilos of apples 100 grams soaked and patted dry raisins (optional!) 1 tablespoon cinnamon (or more, until all apples are nicely coated)

To brush the dough before it goes into the oven: To give the cake a beautiful golden color, I recommend brushing the cake with 1 beaten egg OR a dash of milk of your choice before putting it in the oven.

Preheat the oven to 190 degrees celcius (374 F)

Peel and cut the apples into wedges, sprinkle with the cinnamon and the raisins that you have pre-soaked and patted dry.

Mix all the ingredients for the dough together until it becomes a crumbly dough (it should be able to stick together and not be too dry, if this is the case I recommend adding more butter to the dough!)

Grease a baking tin with butter or oil and line the bottom with baking paper.

Divide the prepared dough into 3 parts, and put 1 part over the bottom. Press this with your hands or a spoon with a little flour on it so that the dough does not stick.

Then take 1 more part of the divided dough and press it onto the edges around the baking tin. You can roll this out with a rolling pin and cut it to size, I think this takes too long so I just press the dough along the edges (about 0.5 cm thick)

Put the apple filling in the pie and spread it evenly.

Sprinkle the last remaining part of the made dough over the pie to get an apple crumble pie, if you want a lattice top: make a ball of the dough and roll it out with a rolling pin. Cut strips from the dough that are 1.5 cm wide and long enough to cover the pie. If you are making a lattice top, brush it with egg OR milk of your choice to give it a nice golden glow. If you have a crumb top this is not necessary.

Bake the pie for 40-50 minutes, but keep an eye on the pie because every oven is different! You know the pie is ready when you insert a toothpick or skewer into it and the apples can be pierced and the dough does not remain wet around the stick.

Let the pie cool down for fifteen minutes before removing it from the baking tin.

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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 months

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Back to Life

human!alastor x human!gnreader

Part 1 of 5+

summary for part: you had just been for a walk in the woods, and now suddenly you’re standing over a historical looking guy with a chipper attitude and… a gun? thankfully he’s here to help you in your bloodied and confused state, but as things play out you can’t help but notice nothing is like it was before your fall, and all you have to trust is the odd grinning man

summary for series: One day when waltzing through the woods a peculiar looking buck led you deeper in, while following, you fell hitting your head and woke to a stranger standing over you. You don’t know where you are, how you got here, or who this guy is, but he’s all you’ve got and he’s utterly insane.

warnings for part: short first chap, lowercase intended; i’m feeling quirkyyy, multiple parts-i put other things aside because my brain is STUCK on human alastor sorry lads ;-;, blood, descriptions of injury, kinda strange stylized writing, i’ve got like a whole story thing planned compared to the other ones-this one’s got a whole plot line. no descriptions of reader- of any kind, no pronouns, i looked up a shit ton of 1920s outfits & speech just for a couple lines lmao, OOC alastor my reasoning behind that is he’s not in hell yet so he hasn’t had that kind of demonic development yet, he’s still a psycho tho and we love him for that, also mommas boy <3, he uses 1920s slang a lot lads, throughout the whole series

warnings for series: homicide, morally grey reader, eventual smut, cannibalism, reader will eat a guy, unknowingly, alastor be doing witchcraft magical madness but it’s never in depth explanations, alastor is a mommas boy and it will be hounded on, annoying 1920s slang, alastor is more accumulated to the era he’s in so he may be OOC 100 years in hell would change a guy, varying descriptions of injuries and blood in detail, takes place in 1927, alastor is 27 oop born in 1899 tho, nothing here is canon, just loosely follows, reader is in their 20s at least; no younger, alastors mom is nameless mostly, maybe later on she’ll have a name; she’s 48, alastor has daddy issues bc same, mimzy may be added later depending,

you remembered seeing a deer while wandering through the woods, you were taking pictures of the scenery when you saw this curious looking deer.

it stood tall with large antlers, a beautiful reddish brown coat, you’d never seen a deer so close. brining your camera up slow you went to snap a picture when your phone crashed, you weren’t even able to get the buck in frame before your phone fizzled out.

the deer started to walk away, but you so badly wanted these pictures. slowly you followed behind, cautious of the leaves and sticks below your feet. you followed it over a fallen tree, through bush and branch. finally you entered an area filled with more foliage, closer trees that blocked off sunlight, more bushes and fallen trees, wild flowers, moss and random mushrooms.

you watched as the buck disappeared behind thick bush, and that’s the last conscious moment you remembered. you woke at the bottom of the hill, when you opened your eyes you didn’t know a thing.

it was like you were a blank slate, everything was as it was; there was no confusion, you were simply in the woods with no worry or question as to why. you laid there, your head lulling from side to side observing the tree covered sky above, the sunlight that shot through the trees highlighting the particles floating through the air.

there wasn’t a sound at all; the animals feared something near. inhaling deeply, you willed your head up, wincing and groaning in pain. suddenly life as you knew it came back to you, you weren’t just a mindless being in the woods, you were you, and you were out here taking pictures and then, fell?

you still weren’t sure what had happened just that you followed a deer and then… fell asleep and woke here. your body ached badly, specifically your forehead, your back, neck and shoulders. it seemed the brunt of the fall was your head, lifting your hand you touched your forehead feeling a flap of skin that wasn’t there before.

looking down at your hand you weren’t surprised to see some blood, in fact the top you had worn had been covered in it. “hello dear, funny place to snooze if ya ask me.” a voice joked, startling you. however your body was too tired to startle, so despite your heart rate increasing, and the jump you felt in your bones, your body remained eerily still, your head slowly turning toward the sound.

standing above you was a man with a soft smile, he wore circluar glasses and the strangest outfit. he wore a coat chestnut brown- a lumberjack coat; strange looking pants that puffed out at the hips, with boots that the pants cinched into them. his hands were covered by gloves, and tiny brown coloured coiled curls popped out from his hunting cap, and on his shoulder a leather strap that allowed a large shotgun to sit on his back.

you were taken aback by his looks, his outfit looked vintage, historical too, and he was, well, gorgeous. “you’re bleeding quite a bit dear, how’s about we getcha up and outta here, hm?” lending his hand to you, the man gave you a charming smile with lidded eyes. you felt something was off about the man, a lingering feeling that something beyond your understanding was telling you to run, get away.

instead you whimpered, pathetically so, and placed your hand into his, letting him hoist you up. he wrapped your arm around him, while he looped his own arm under you, helping you walk. it was hard to do so, your ribs hurt with every breath you took, your head felt like it was floating above your shoulders, your cheeks watered making you swallow constantly, and though you were shivering your body felt ablaze on the inside, like hot coals were lit under your skin.

the man looked down at you, you could see from your peripheral vision he was inspecting you, but you were too pained to care. “how’d you find yourself at the bottom of the hill my dear, someone try to bump you off?” his voice was way too chipper for your current mood, and all you did was mutter a confused ‘huh’ at him, thankfully he laughed that off.

“listen, i’ll take you to my joint my mothers over so we can getcha all patched up, but you’ve gotta spill whatever happened to you if that’s quite alright.” despite the sturdiness in his voice, asserting what was going to happen with expectations, he tone was somewhat kind. dryly you mutter out ‘name?’, your voice raspy and unlike your own. the man chuckled before he responded in a smooth tone. “alastor dear, pleasure to meet you.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #human alastor x reader

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whatawonderfulexistence--blog · 6 months

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Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part I

Well, it happened... After trying to evade the hype for so long they finally got me 😂😂 This story has had me in a chokehold (haha, get it?) since I started toying around with the idea of it. Hopefully you guys enjoy it, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future chapters and/or Sleep Token one shots!

WARNINGS: None

Part II

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

Credit to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, ily bb 💗💗💗

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You sat with your feet propped up on the counter, one of the magazines you had yet to sell spread open on your lap. "Be fashion forward this fall." You read out loud to the empty store in a mocking tone as your eyes grazed over the pictures of chunky sweaters, jeans, and boring, brown leather boots. The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered the store, your eyes darted up, expecting one of your regulars. You were met with the sight of someone in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over their head. 'Great,' you thought to yourself, 'just when I thought I was going to have an easy evening.' You watched the man carefully, waiting to see what exactly he was going to stick in his pockets. Now, you normally turn a blind eye to shoplifters up to a certain extent, everyone deserves to have something to eat. But, being an independently owned store you could only take so much of a loss on your inventory. To your surprise, the man didn't pick up a single item. He took his time looking over the contents of each shelf, his hands never leaving his sweatshirt pocket. "Can I help you find anything, sir?" His head turned slightly in your direction, but not enough for you to see his face.

"What time do you close?" You were caught off guard by his British accent, it was an uncommon occurrence to get outsiders in your small backwoods town.

"Eight o'clock." He nods his thanks and hurriedly exits your store, almost bumping into one of your regulars on the way out.

"Everything alright?" He asks as the strange visitor leaves your store.

"Do you know him?" You ask quietly, as if he would somehow be able to overhear you despite having rounded the corner of the building already.

"Yeah, he's one of those… those cultists that set up shop in the woods." He explains. You were a bit shocked at the realization. You had been seeing headlines in the local newspaper for months as curiosity rose around the small group of men that had built a few Cabins on the very edge of town. Reporters didn't dare venture into their camp for an interview, but that didn't stop them from snapping a few pictures from the safety of the treeline. Four cabins sat at each corner of a small clearing, a large fire pit dominated the center. From what you could make out they seemed to have some sort of root cellar and a lackluster garden, which would explain why you hadn't seen any of them in person until this afternoon. "You be careful, (Y/N). Freaks like that might just try to sacrifice you to some goat demon they worship." He warns. You can't help but roll your eyes at the outlandish statement.

"Mark, those boys haven't done a single thing to bother anyone since they got here. They've been out there for months, if they were going to take someone they would've done it by now." You argue.

He chuckles, "Trust me darlin', I hope you're right. But until then me and a lot of other folks around here plan on keeping a close eye on them. You'd do best to stay away from them."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" You challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Now, Miss (Y/N), you and I both know you'd beat my ass to next Sunday if that's what I was implying." The two of you shared a laugh. "I just don't want something bad to happen, that's all. These strange men show up out of nowhere one day and no one knows where they came from, hell none of us have ever seen their faces. They all wear these black masks, least that's what the reports are saying. You can never be too cautious."

"I'll take my chances." You smile politely in an attempt to get him off his soap box. "Now, I take it you're here for your pack of Marlboros."

"Yes ma'am, and an extra one for Donnie if you don't mind." He responds with a nod as he fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket.

"You got it boss." The rest of your evening was spent rather uneventfully, save for the fact that you would practically jump out of your chair every time the door opened. You glanced up at the clock, there was about twenty minutes left until you closed. "Maybe he decided to not come back." You shrug. Moments later an old, beat up pick up truck rumbled into the parking lot. You watched as the driver got out, his head dipped low to hide his face in the hood of his black sweatshirt. He pushes through the door, the jingle of the bell the only sound to cut through the tense silence. "Welcome back." You tried to sound friendly despite your unease. He nods at you in response, not saying a single word as he makes his way quickly and directly to everything he needs. He approaches the counter, unloading his arm load of supplies before taking a step back. "You got a name to go with those big, broad shoulders of yours?" You ask in a bit of a teasing tone, trying to do what you could to lighten the mood. He remained silent, despite the fact you couldn't see his face you couldn't escape the feeling of his piercing gaze. You opened a bag, carefully organizing his contents inside. "$18.75, sir." He slaps a twenty dollar bill on the counter, not even waiting for his change as he grabs his bag and flits out the door. You watched as he drove off, not sure exactly what you were supposed to make of that interaction. You had a similar occurrence every day for almost a week. He would come in, grab an armful of groceries, put down his money, and he left. You would try and greet him whenever he would come in your store, it was always met with a curt nod.

"Vessel." You froze as he finally spoke up. You looked up, your eyes met with 6 slits on an odd looking mask. "You can call me Vessel." You couldn't think of how to respond at first. He had barely acknowledged your existence before tonight, what had changed?

"Vessel… (Y/N)." You stick out your hand to shake his. "It's nice to finally meet you." You smile as his hands clap into yours.

"You're different from the other people we've run into from town." He remarks.

"The reporters?"

"Some of them, a few others we just happened to cross paths with." You could feel him studying you. "You don't seem scared."

"Vessel, you've been coming in here for over a week now. If you were going to try and hurt me you would've done it by now." You notice the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile.

"I guess you have a point." He chuckles. You finish scanning his items and give him his total. He places the money down on the counter and picks up his bag.

"How come you never take your change?" You ask as he's almost out the door.

"I know you run this place by yourself, think of it as me tipping a small business." He flashes a brief, brilliant smile at you. You try to hide your shy smile by fixing up your register. "Oh, and (Y/N)?" You glance back up at him. "It's nice to finally meet you too."

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