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#watch this get paid dust
cuntylestat · 1 year
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the reason i will always irrationally dislike stranger things is because i blame it for the get down getting canceled. idc about logic, that’s how i feel in my heart
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lonesomedotmp3 · 11 months
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it does genuinely piss me off how much of the greatest things about my old school was built off the blood sweat and tears of this one incredible passionate lovely teacher and they never ever ever gave him anything in return until he left for a better school during my a levels 😐 and then I had to have the shittiest teacher alive for othello instead of him who would have slayed it and I'm NOT bitter about it out all
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nanaslutt · 3 months
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HATE SEX WITH GETO PLEASE 😭😭🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾
contains: fem reader, spanking, choking, manhandling, hate fucking, rough sex, dirty talk, cheating, spanking, bathroom sex, angst w/ no comfort, proceed with caution :3
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ
Just thinking about hate sex with ex-boyfriend Geto. You received a video from an unknown number a couple months ago of your boyfriend at the club, big arms slung around two pretty girls as one ground on him under the flashing lights and blaring music of the club. The video was short, but it was all you needed to see. You forwarded the video to Geto, captioned with the words, "fuck you."
The night he went out he told you he was having a guy's night out with Gojo, so imagine your surprise when you woke up to him acting like a whore in public. You still did never find out who sent you that video. Geto spent days blowing up your phone, using your mutual friends to try and talk to you, even going as far to show up to your house, but you rejected all of his advances.
After about a month and a half, when things had calmed down and it was evident to the both of you that your relationship was well over, you finally started going out again. The reason it took you so long? The two of you were in the same friend group. There's a reason they say to date outside of your circle, for situations exactly like this.
Your big debut back into your circle of friends was a night out clubbing. Gojo, Shoko, Utahime, and Nanami were sitting on the plush cushions around you. The only reason you agreed to go out with them tonight was because Shoko had promised Geto wouldn't be there, saying he was stuck at work. Truthfully though, Shoko had missed you so much in the group outings, that she would've found a way to drag you out of the house even if Geto was going to be there.
"This is nice, I'll admit. I missed you guys." You said, working on your second cocktail of the night. Drinks always tasted better when Gojo paid. "Awww~ I don't know how you went so long without seeing me, honestly~" Gojo teased, ruffling your hair in the process. You swatted his hand away, fixing your hair while you shot him a nasty side-eye. "Us, he meant US." Utahime corrected, placing her hand on your knee while also shooting daggers at Gojo.
Gojo stuck out his tongue at Utahime, crossing his legs as he leaned back into the cushions, his arms spreading out behind you and Nanami on the top of the couch. "It's true though, it's nice having you here," Nanami added a light blush dusting on his face from how many drinks he had already downed; he must not have work tomorrow. "Thank you Nanami." you smiled at him before leaning back, crossing your legs over one another, your short black dress riding up your thighs slightly in the process.
"I've been so pent up all month, this feels so good." You giggled, tipping your head over as you directed your words to the girls. "Yeah? I know how you can feel even better." Shoko smirked, sipping on her straight vodka. Utahime smiled giddily, leaning her body forward in interest as she also waited for Shoko to speak. "Blondie over there at the bar has been eyeing you up since we got here, go talk to him." She nudged, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
You have been wound up in more ways than one since you and Geto had broken up. He always dicked you down so good, you would miss that. Who knows though, maybe blondie with the nice jawline and pretty face would give you good pipe in the bathroom. You eye him up, biting your lip as you dragged your eyes over his sturdy frame, only noticing he had been watching you oogle him like a slab of meat the whole time when you went to rake your eyes over his handsome face. He smiled, his dimples showing themselves as they dug into his cheeks, fuck he was hot. This was the perfect guy to use to get over Geto, screw that cheater.
"Oh shitt~ Look at them eye fucking each other~ Haha!" Gojo laughed, sipping on his sweet, non-alcoholic, bright pink drink. You turned your head to smirk at Gojo before you placed your hand on his shoulder and used it to push yourself off the seat. "You're really going for it?" Shoko asked incredulously, giggling behind your hand as you smoothed out your dress. "Why not? I'm horny and single, and a hot man is looking at me like I'm the hottest woman he's ever laid eyes on." You said, smiling down at your friends.
"That's because you are," Shoko added, grabbing your thigh for leverage she spun you around to face the man behind you sitting on the barstools, waiting for you to approach him. "I would be jealous If I liked men, he's a cutie." She laughed to Utahime as she watched you take a deep breath and walk off toward the man.
You walked through the club with confidence, a heartbeat already forming behind your panties as you got closer and closer, watching the way he eyed up your body as you walked. "Friends talked some sense into you, huh?" The man spoke when you got within ear shot. You took the seat next to him, plopping down on the barstool you spun the seat around to face him, your legs slotting together with one another as you placed your heel-clad feet on the bottom of his barstool.
His eyes darted down to your legs, watching you insert yourself into his space with confidence. "Too shy to come up to me yourself?" You asked, placing your hand on his knee as you rubbed circles against his pants, making him swallow the lump in his throat, feeling the heat rise to his face with how bold you were being. "You kidding? Those guys you're with are fucking repellent. Didn't know if you were with one of them or not." He laughed, taking a sip of his drink to ease his nerves.
"But you were watching me anyways?" You teased, keeping your eyes locked onto his. He took in a deep breath, pressing his lips together as before he spoke. "You have no idea what you look like, huh?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at you. "Who wouldn't be able to resist looking at someone like you?" His words sent shivers down your spine, you needed to get him in a bathroom stall with you hours ago. As the two of you continued flirting with one another, eyefucking each other as you sipped on your respective drinks, someone unexpected entered the club.
"Heyy." Geto's voice echoed into your friend's ears. The dark-haired man was half up, half down in his signature bun, one hand tucked into his pocket while his other was held up in front of him, waving to his friends. "Hey troublemaker~" Gojo smiled largely. Shoko groaned along with Utahime. "Thought you couldn't make it?" Nanami asked as he slid in next to him on the couch, spreading his long legs out on the cushions as he took Nanami's drink from him, taking a gulp.
"Got off early, thought I might come by." He responded, laughing when a drunk Nanami snatched his drink back from Geto, muttering to order his own drink. "Come by my ass, you work on the other side of town." Shoko laughed incredulously, adding that you were not going to be very happy. "She's here?" Geto asked, his demeanor immediately perking up. Shoko looked to Utahime knowingly before she looked back to Geto, hissing air in through her teeth.
"Yes cheater~ Of course she's here, and she's about to score by the looks of it." Shoko laughed, making Gojo whistle as he dragged his gaze to you, watching you pull your head back from the whispering something in the mans ear before his lips moved, head moving in tandem as you slid off of the barstool, taking his larger hand in his as you dragged him away from the seat, making him place his drink down on the bar top, abandoning it as you dragged him away to the bathroom.
Geto had just watched the entire scene unfold in front of him that the rest of them had seen. Of course, Geto had come here for you. Shoko was right, he worked almost half an hour away from the club, he was exhausted from work but when he saw you say in the group chat you were going to be here, he knew he had to make a detour. He knew he fucked up when he lied to you about going to the club, but truthfully he had done nothing more than let a couple girls fawn over him, grinding on him while they peppered kisses on his cheeks, never coming close to his mouth.
He still loved you, of course, he did, but you had been adamant about not seeing him at all for almost two months. He hadn't really given up, he would never give up on trying to get you back, he just figured maybe a little break and letting you calm down would lead you back to him. Clearly, he was wrong as he watched you maneuver your way through the crowd, dragging some man you met five minutes prior away to fuck, looking good as all hell.
He grits his teeth, pressing his feet firmly on the floor Geto was on the move in a heartbeat, no one could stop him. "Oh look what you did." Nanami huffed, looking at Shoko. "She's gonna be fucking pissed you know." Shoko's jaw was on the floor. She severely underestimated the amount of balls Suguru Geto had. "How the fuck was I supposed to know he was gonna go chase after her???" She said, looking at him with an expression that almost resembled horror, making Gojo laugh his ass off between them.
Once you made it to the secluded corner of the club just outside the bathrooms, you spun your body around, wrapping your arms around the man. "You wanna fuck me?" You whispered into his ear, feeling his large hands wrap around your waist, his knee sliding between your legs. He groaned at your words, staring between your lips and your pretty eyes as you bit your lip at him, "Fuck yeah, pretty girl." He smiled, shaking his head as he leaned in for a kiss.
You closed your eyes, waiting for a sensation against your lips that never came. Your eyes shot open when he yelled out an exasperated "Hey! What the fuck!" His lips loosened on your waist as he was dragged away from you by a strong grip on his hair. "Geto?!" You yelled, spinning your body to look at him, your body heating up with rage combined with the neglect of pleasure. "Who the fuck are you?!" The blond-haired man yelled, trying to grip Geto's wrist to make him release the hold he had on his hair.
"Her boyfriend." He deadpanned, throwing him in the direction of the club as he reached his hand over your head, pushing the door open behind you, forcing you into the small bathroom with his large frame, leaving you no time to refute. "I didn't know man, fuck!" The man's voice was cut off as the bathroom door shut behind the two of you, Geto's hand coming down to lock the door, leaving you alone in the personal bathroom.
"What the fuck are you doing?" You asked, shoving his chest back, Geto not even moving a muscle as his jaw muscles bulged out under the weight of his clenching teeth, his dark eyes watching you fume. "What the fuck were you doing?" Geto responded, walking toward you slowly, making you step back unconsciously, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. "Why is that any of your fucking business?" You spat, almost laughing at his audacity.
"We never officially broke up." Geto retorted, clenching his fists by his sides. "Oh! Oho!" You laughed, "Excuse me, allow me to make it official for you, we are fucking done." You dug your nail into his chest, squinting your eyes as you looked into his, your tall heels making you feel more confident as your height difference wasn't as dramatic now. "Thought I made it pretty fucking clear when I didn't respond to you for almost two months, but you always were pretty dense." You huffed, backing away from him once you got your point across.
"Were you just trying to get even with me? Huh? Thought fucking some random guy in the club like a slut would make you feel better about yourself?" He yelled, continuing to walk toward you until your back hit the wall, making you jolt, you hadn't even realized you were walking backward. "The fuck did you call me?" You asked, scrunching your eyebrows together. "You're such a fucking hypocrite, acting like that wasn't exactly what you did to me." You laughed again. You felt like you were going crazy, why was he acting like you were the one in the wrong here?
"I never fucked them! Never! Maybe if you answered my fucking calls or looked at my texts you would know that!" He shouted, getting in your face. You shook your head, looking at him with disdain. "Oh, because letting girls dry hump you is so much fucking better, right?" You yelled back, the ghost of a smile gracing your features, you were so done with him.
"God you really are the worst." You spat, your eyes shooting daggers into his own. "How the fuck are you gonna make up for scaring that guy off, huh?" You asked, tilting your head at him, making his eyes lock onto yours once more. Geto cocked his head at you, clearly uncomfortable with you mentioning the blonde stranger, knowing damn well you meant you were going to fuck him, and now you were left dry.
You scoffed, "What? Don't like the thought of me getting off on someone else's cock? Moaning someone else's name? Huh? That shit make you mad?" You got in his face, keeping your squinted eyes on his dark ones. Geto doesn't know what came over him, but he couldn't stand to hear you talk anymore. His lips were on yours, swallowing your surprised moans, immediately slipping his tongue into your mouth, crushing his jaw into yours, your head bumping into the wall behind you.
You were still mad as hell, but his lips felt so familiar, your arousal crept up through the cracks of your irritation and made you kiss him back harder, fighting him for dominance. His hand came to grab your throat, squeezing harshly, his fingers digging into your delicate skin, making you whine into the kiss. He was never this rough with you, and you were loving it.
He pulled back, his free hand coming down to undo his belt quickly, pulling the leather through the loops as he threw it somewhere on the floor of the filthy bathroom floor, "Don't you ever talk about someone else fucking you in front of me." He growled, squeezing your throat to emphasize his words, You smiled through the lack of oxygen, little black dots clouding your vision, but you still felt the need to fight back. "Fuck you." You whispered.
Geto spun you around in one swift movement, making you face the wall, your hands coming to brace against the brick as you felt him lift your skirt over the curve of your ass, your panties being roughly yanked down midway on your thighs. Everything was happening so quickly, the adrenaline pumping through your veins only fueling your arousal. You knew this was not a good idea, but your body was too weak to Geto.
Geto shook his head as his eyes came into contact with your dripping pussy. He bit his lip between his teeth, pulling his cock out through his pants as he gave himself a couple rough strokes, his hand sliding down to your ass as he rubbed his thumb through your folds, spreading them and rubbing your wetness around before he dipped the digit into your hole, slowly pumping in and out. He was absolutely fuming at the thought of you giving this to someone else, he wondered if you had in the time you haven't been talking.
"You this wet from that fucking loser, or from me yelling at you?" Geto asked, pulling his thumb back to leave a rough smirk on your ass, pushing his hips forward as he rubbed his tip along your folds, getting his cock slick with your juices. "You're so full of yourself, shoulda seen the way he was touching me under the table." You giggled, turning your head to the side to look at him. You kept your words vague on purpose to piss Geto off. He had been touching you under the table, but only your thigh.
"You fucking slut." Geto grit through his teeth, his hand coming to grip the back of your neck, his fingers pinching your skin with how hard he was gripping you. "And you still wanna fuck me." You laughed, the noise getting cut short when he pushed his cock into you all at once with zero warning, keeping his balls pressed to your ass as he let his cock throb inside your walls still, his back pressing agaisnt your chest as he leaned into your ear, his deep voice whispering, "That's enough out of you." His voice alone was enough to send shivers down your spine.
"Fuck!" you yelled when he pulled his hips back before he bullied his cock back into your unprepped walls, stretching you open as he meanly fucked you against the wall. "Shit- Think he could fuck you better than me? Huh?" Geto asked, leaning back as he pressed the back of your neck into the wall, his other hand holding under your hip as he held you in an arch, the pace of his hips making your knees squeeze together, bending slightly at the stimulation.
You brought one of your hands down between your thighs to rub little circles into your clit, your eyes crossing at the feeling. Geto must have felt how tight you got because he groaned through his teeth, his hand leaving your hip for a moment to come down to leave a harsh smack on your ass. "Fuck- I don't know, heh- If you didn't interrupt me I w-would've found out. He shook his head, smiling through the malice he felt coursing through his veins. "You're such a fucking brat." Smack, "Just sayin' that shit to get me worked up so I'll fuck you like the whore you are."
You wanted to hit him back every time he slapped your ass. Sure, it felt good, but you knew he was trying to put you in your place, so the action made a vein pop out on your forehead. You were so glad he couldn't see your face right now. Your words might've been sharp and snarky, but your face was flushed red and your eyes were rolling back in your head every time his fat cock thrust right against your sweet spot deep inside you, the one only he could reach. "I-I hate you-" You moaned out between his mean thrusts.
You heard him coo in response, his hand leaning the back of your neck so he could grip your waist with both hands and yank you back on his cock harder, fucking whines from your lips. "Don't talk to me like that baby, hurts my feelings~" Geto retorted, his jaw dropping in a small o when you rubbed your clit harder at his words, making your hole clench around him so tightly it felt like you were trying to milk him of all he was worth.
"Would you really be squeezing me this tight if you hated me? Hmm?" He teased, practically slamming your ass back on his pelvis, loud squelching noises bouncing off the walls. Thank god you were in this loud-ass club or everyone would know exactly what was going on, not like you really cared. "Shut up and fuck m-me." You responded curtly, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on reaching your high, timing your finger rubbing circles against your clit with his thrusts inside you.
"That's what I'm doing, dumb s-slut." Geto groaned, dropping his gaze to where the two of you were connected, feeling a warmth in his stomach bloom at the white ring of cum that had formed around the base of his dick. "Godd pussy is fucking milking me- you cant survive without me, need me- need this dick." Geto spoke between rough thrusts, his own words working himself up as he felt his high creep over him.
You grit your teeth at his words, moans spilling from your lips without your permission. He was fucking the shit out of you, you don't think he's ever been so rough before. His words, his hips, his hands, all of it, so fucking rough, and it was quickly working you up to your orgasm. You were too overwhelmed, tears started forming in your eyes with all of the stimulation and emotion you were feeling. He was hammering into your g-spot, making your legs shake uncontrollably.
"God- fuck- Gonna make me cum inside my pussy, my fucking pussy-" Geto babbled, shaking his head as he tried to get a peek at your face, noticing how you had bitten your lip between your teeth, tears streaming down your face. "Fuck, you crying? Feels that good?" He laughed. You didn't want him to know how good you were feeling, didn't want him to know his words were true; you couldn't live without him or his dick. His cock alone was literally fucking tears out of your eyes, it was so intense.
"Not gonna speak huh? Fine, stay quiet then." Your ex-boyfriend huffed, looking down at your pussy stretched around his girth as he fucked himself to his orgasm, you close behind him. "Shit- shit I'm coming- take it baby fu-ck~" Geto groaned, leaning over your back, burring his face into your neck. You felt his teeth dig into your neck when you felt the first rope of his warm seed shoot inside you, making your orgasm crash over you.
The two of you rode your highs out together, Geto's hips weakly and unceremoniously thrusting into your sopping cunt, working you through your orgasms. Geto jerked against your body, his strong hands wrapping around your torso as he kept you pressed against him, unloading his cum into your abused pussy. You whimpered into the wall, feeling his teeth leave your neck when he started coming down from his high, his face keeping its place in your neck.
The two of you stayed quiet for a while, relishing in the silence save for the dull booming of the club music echoing through the walls of the bathroom. Geto's hands were petting the skin of your hips, and for just a moment, you let yourself think everything was okay, losing yourself in the feeling; until he spoke. "I am sorry you know. So fucking sorry." He whispered into your neck, not daring to move.
You heaved out a sigh, pushing his arms off of you. You reached behind you and pushed his pelvis back, wincing in overstimulation when his softened cock slid out of your walls, his cum chasing after him, making your face scrunch at the uncomfortable feeling. "That wasn't what this was." You responded coldly. Bending down you pulled your panties up, keeping his cum snug inside you.
You turned around to watch him open your mouth, to which you held your hand up, stopping him; amazed when he actually listened. You pushed past him, bumping his shoulder in the process. Without another word, you unlocked the bathroom door and on shaky legs, left the small room and out into the nightclub to find Shoko and Utahime and get the hell out of there. Geto sighed deeply, tipping his head back as he stared at the ceiling before he closed his eyes, feeling the remorse wash over him, "fuck."
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ohdeerfully · 2 months
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hiii! this is my first request on tumblr but i jus love alastor sm and there is NOT enough fics for me out there. so im asking u❤️
what abt alastor being jealous of someone else in the hotel? for example: angel dust, he puts on music and you two are dancing with eachother happily not noticing the red eyed demon with a tight grin. 🥰
Hii! Honestly after writing this I realized I didn't follow the prompt exactly, less jealousy and more Alastor being overprotective. Oh well! Hope you like it anyway :D!
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Be Back Soon (i)
alastor x reader (fluff? alastor is just overprotective) part i TW: Cursing/Angel existing if you want tagged in the next part, lmk! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══
Your fingers dragged down the skin around your eyes as you let out a long sight, sitting at Husk’s bar with shoulders propped on the cold counter. What a day it had been, running around in the typical chaos of the hotel as Charlie tried to get some group bonding activities finished. It was getting late, and you just finally had a moment of peace.
“‘Ey, toots!” The chipper voice broke your peace and you couldn’t help it when another audible sigh escaped you. The culprit of the broken science paid no mind.
Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes and made eye contact with the lanky pink spider. You were a little salty at him in particular, being one of the main catalysts to the everyday insanity. He had an easy grin played upon his lips as he stared back down at you with his multicolored eyes, one pair of arms on his hips that jutted out a little too unnaturally in a mischievous pose. His golden tooth glinted under his light grin with a similar air of “hey I’m up to no good right now.”
“You look fuckin’ tired!” He barked a laugh, dramatically squeezing his eyes shut in a theatrical show of laughing in your face. It really wasn’t that funny, and you couldn’t stop the frown that touched your lips as you watched him. He took pride in being the way he was. Annoying.
“No thanks to you, Angel,” You clipped back. You turned your head to watch Husk, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He had become an expert in ignoring the spider demon’s presence, which was how he managed to stay sane with said demon’s constant flirting and sexual nature.
“Anyway,” He waves away your targeted words with a wave of his hands as his eyes roll up. “I was thinkin’ we get outta here for the night? Me and Cherri were gonna have a “girl’s night.”” You briefly thought about the humor in Angel admitting to being ‘one of the girls,’ but pushed the thought away to consider his invitation. “It wouldn’t hurt ta get some fresh air. This place is real stuffy sometimes, and a huge snooze fest,” he persuaded. He rested his face on one pair of hands, fingers laced under his chin, as he leaned against the bartop in anticipation for your answer.
You purse your lips in thought. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You didn’t go out clubbing a lot, and with Angel and Cherri with you surely nothing wrong would happen. They looked out for their friends, and you would (maybe regretfully) consider yourself Angel’s friend. You glanced at Husk for a moment, as if looking for advice, but his eyes remained close and his lips had an annoyed curl. Maybe you should get out of his hair.
“Okay, okay,” You grinned, a little sheepishly. While you couldn’t really consider ‘fresh air’ to be a feature of Hell, you agreed that you needed to just Get Out of this place. Running errands for Charlie got mundane, even with all the strange characters that cycled through the place. One tends to get used to the chaos.
Angel stretched his arms up in a cheer, which earned a one-eyed, aggravated look from Husk. He uttered something under his breath before grabbing a bottle and walking to the other corner.
“Alright, sweet lips,” Angel cooed at you. “Let's get you dressed! You got anything decent up in your closet?”
Your hand found its way to the back of your neck as you answered sheepishly, “Eh, not really… At least, not for a night out. I don’t really do much outside of the Hotel.” Angel frowned at the response, tapping his chin in thought.
“Lemme take a look,” With a swipe of his arm, your hand was suddenly being held as he dragged you up the steps toward the floor of your room.
Walking down at the same time, you briskly passed by Alastor, who had his eyes closed and a hum in his mouth. His blazing red eyes peered open as you and Angel rushed past him, a quizzical furrow in his brow seeing the connection between your hands. You shot him a shy grin and craned your head back to shout a quick ‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ before you disappeared around the bend of the stairs.
You didn’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes.
Angel, in an attempt to dramatically burst through your door, slammed full body into the entrance. “Ah- the hell?” He cried, roughly jiggling the handle.
“I keep it locked,” you snickered at him and the disheveled look in his usually preened hair. You saw him take his hands to brush it out as you fiddled with the lock, an annoyed mutter of words escaping his lips. The second the door clicked, Angel shoved past you and reattempted his dramatic burst through the entrance with a bit more luck this time around.
He went straight for your closer, rummaging through this and that. What a breach of privacy, this guy is, you thought with a strained smile as you stepped up next to him to try to guide him through your very Ordinary and Plain clothes.
You felt a prickling sensation on your skin, and you swear you heard a frequency of low static, but when you whipped your head around nothing stood there. Did that shadow just move?
Shaking your head, you looked at the piece Angel held proudly in his hands, one pair of arms gripping the top and the second pair pulling the bottom out to really get a full inspection.
It was incredibly simple, but still a bit more revealing than anything you were used to wearing. A deep red top, so cropped it may as well be a sporty bra, with a couple eye-catching accents of rhinestones. Connected with thin straps was a similarly tight pair of booty shorts. Your face flushed at the thought of wearing this. It was practically lingerie.
“Isn’t it a bit, uh, tacky?” You tried in an attempt to dissuade him from this getup. He acted offended, one hand going and pressing against his fluffed chest. You didn’t miss the way he took this as an opportunity and pressed up against himself to perk up his mass of chest fur.
“Babe, I wear shit like this all the time! You tellin’ me,” He started a rant, shaking the clothes in a fit of mock rage. “You tellin’ me I’m tacky? Hah! Me! Angel Dust!” He wiped away a fake tear in his laughter.
Your face flushed again looking at the getup. With a defeated mutter you swiped it from his hands and trekked painfully slowly to the restroom. You ignored Angel’s urgency for you to ‘hurry the hell up’ because it was almost time to get going.
You slowly stripped yourself of your day clothes, gingerly stepping through the tight shorts and tucking your arms through the straps of the top. You didn’t even remember buying this thing, it had been stuffed far in the back of your closet. You couldn’t help the feeling of dread thinking about the other embarrassing things Angel might have seen in there. Though, you doubt anything could phase that guy.
You had to admit, looking at your reflection, that it did accentuate your curves, even if you didn’t have much to begin with. The rhinestone accents glittered in the bathroom light, obviously designed in a way to bring attention to the chest. The straps that connect the two pieces fit snugly against your exposed torso. You were suddenly glad Hell never got that cold.
“Almost ready!” You snapped at Angel calling from the other side of the door. You quickly threw on some touches of makeup, trying your best to compliment the shades of your outfit and adding some glittery makeup around your eyes. You quickly dragged your fingers through your hair to style it comfortably.
You ripped open your door just as fists started banging on it. Angel stood there with two arms raised, stopped midair to keep himself from decking you in the head. You glared up at him, trying to maintain your earlier sourness to hide the fact that the outfit had grown on you.
“Hey, sexy lady!” Angel teasingly leaned himself against the doorframe with a smirk. “Let’s fuckin’ go! You took too damn long! Cherri hates waitin’.”
Grabbing your hand again, he ushered you out of the room. As you raced down the stairs, you tried to continuously preen your hair to keep it from flying out of shape as Angel practically drug you down each step.
He slowed at the bottom, releasing your hand, and stepping towards Husk’s bar to aggravate and flirt with the cat one last time before heading out. You tuned out his sexual innuendoes as you tried to glance over yourself one last time.
“My, what a dame you are!” Alastor’s recognizably radio-afflicted voice ripped your attention away from picking at a loose rhinestone. He stood over you, a slight bend in his waist and an unnatural crane in his neck. His smile was there, but tight and uneasily wide as he examined you through squinted eyes. He leaned his weight against his cane.
Swallowing your unease, you examined his expression. You knew Alastor didn’t care for such… promiscuous outfits. Especially on what he considered his. You knew his compliment was satirical, and you didn’t miss that glint of anger flash through his expression.
“Heyy, Al,” You drew out your words, unintentionally accentuating the awkward tone between the two of you. He paid no mind, keeping up that seemingly cheerful grin of his as he just… stared at you. His fingers tapped impatiently on the radio of his cane, each tap bringing a warp to the frequency that always surrounded him. “I’m going out with Angel tonight. Y’know… to get some air…”
“My dear,” His eyes closed in a laugh and he straightened himself out. “Why would you ever go out there for fresh air? Now, you know those demons would just eat you right up.” A dark sneer infected his smile, lips curling and exposing the line of his black gums.
“‘Ey c’mon, Smiles,” Angel stepped up next to you and lazily threw an arm over your shoulder. You saw that sneer only deepen as Alastor watched the spider get way too close to you. “Give ‘er a break! She’s always runnin’ around doin’ shit for this bum-ass hotel! It makes her… boring!” 
You didn’t know whether or not to appreciate Angel both defending and insulting you. You decided to just ignore his comments as you watched Alastor’s expression get darker and more sinister. You felt a cold sweat prickle at your neck as that static-y frequency of his became more prominent and aggressive as his eyes swept over the two of you, lingering on your exposed abdomen with a frustrated twitch in his brow.
“Why, of course!” He suddenly cheered, brandishing his hands to his side in a slight bow. “But…” He stepped towards you, looming over you. You felt that nervous tickle again. His right hand raised and, with a quick motion, a fairly modest jacket materialized around your shoulders. “All better! Wouldn’t want greedy eyes seeing what’s mine!”
How bold, you thought. He was from the ‘30s, though, and very old fashioned. It made sense that immodest wear bothered him. Plus, you looked down at the jacket. It had a similar color scheme, and was light enough to not be too warm. At least it goes with my outfit. How sweet.
You felt a bit giddy at the permission Alastor had given you–not that you needed it. (You did). You’re a grown ass adult. (It doesn’t matter). You shot him a smile of thanks before dashing out the door, meeting Cherri who had been frequently laying on the car horn for you to Hurry the Fuck Up.
Before Angel Dust could follow, a tight grip on one of his wrists stopped him in his tracks. He hissed, yanking his arm but to no avail. Alastor’s grab was like iron, and his nails began to dig into Angel’s skin.
“Hey you fuck, let me go! I gotta get out there before Cherri starts blowin’ this shit up!”
Alastor pulled Angel in closer, a sneer-like grin crossing his expression. There was a maddening look in his glowing red eyes.
“If she comes home with even the smallest scrape,” He said in a low tone, the garble of his radio slightly distorting his voice. “I’m going to make you wish you never came to this Hazbin Hotel.”
Alastor’s grip didn’t yield as Angel tried again in a futile attempt to release himself. He had a nervous laugh in his voice as he tried to act unintimidated by the Radio Demon’s threat.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you creepy red fuck,” He gruffed back, “Me an’ Cherri will stick right by her. You don’t gotta worry about nothin’.” Alastor’s expression shifted in an instant, his cheerful grin reappearing. He stood up straight and smiled down at Angel. “Good man! Now, don’t be too long,” He shooed Angel out of the lobby, who was more than glad to get the fuck out of there. He heard a faint ‘I’ll be watching’ from behind as he slammed the car door shut, muttering curses under his breath.
He knew Alastor would send that damn shadow of his to keep a close eye, so why the fuck did Angel have to babysit you in the first place? Plus, you weren’t some weak, naive fool. Whatever. He knew Alastor would take any excuse to cause some entertaining mayhem.
He sighed as he looked at you, who had a nervous but excited grin as Cherri rambled and cursed about something.
Maybe he shouldn’t have invited you out. He knew he was in for a long, stressful night. Good think there would be a bar.
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experimentfae · 2 months
Text
Alastor x Wife! Reader
Oneshot / fluff
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After you and alastor had moved into the hotel to “help.” Let’s just say that the rest of the hotel residents saw pda all. The. Time.
Vaggie watched as alastor kissed your hand again! “Sweet satan can those two get a room already that’s literally the seventh time he kissed her hand.” She grumbled out “aw come on vaggie you have to admit it’s sweet seeing love like that’s down here, it’s rare, except our love of course.” Stated Charlie.
“I get it, we get like that, but the difference is that we do it SOMETIMES they do it EVERY TIME they have the chance.” She Argued “and besides I just really don’t like that radio dipshit.” “Oh please you don’t like anyone attached to a dick.” Angel dust butted in while he laid on the other couch busy looking at his phone.
Vaggie could only roll her eyes in response “well I think our pda is not of your concern.” Spoke alastor with a smug look which made everyone except you jump a little “satan’s asshole do you always have to come out like that?!” Argued angeldust “it’s more entertaining to watch all of you jump in a little scare.” Alastor replied proud of himself to make them a little scared.
“Dear even if it was quite hilarious we can’t do that to them all the time… it wouldn’t be entertaining anymore like that.” You advised him while you walked towards him to be next to him. “You’re right my dear, wouldn’t wish that.”
“Yep a match made in hell.” Grumbled out husk then he continued to take his beer “husk is right my dear we the perfect pair.” “I don’t think that’s what he meant sorta, but we are perfect for each other.” Just then you looked to see the clock then you let out a gasp “oh Al we don’t want to be late for our dinner reservations.” You stated, “oh yes, we must get ready.”
With a simple snap of his finger’s you and alastor were completely dressed “what’s up with the getup?” Angeldust questioned “it’s our anniversary, so we going to the cannibal colony to alastor’s favorite restaurant.” You smiled “wait you’re a cannibal too.” Vaggie asked in shock “well… I did try demon meat and it’s not that bad.” You answers shrugging your shoulders “so that’s a yes? Or … no?” Charlie questioned further “mmm yeah I believe so.” You answered again.
“Huh didn’t take you for a cannibal.” Spoke husk “yeah have you ate another’s man pecker and Al if she did would you be ok with that?” Questioned angeldust “absolutely not.” You both answered “enough with the questions we must hurry (y/n).” Demanded alastor “goodb- you didn’t get to finish you’re farewell due to alastor, once again he snapped his fingers and you were at the restaurant.
“Thankfully my love we made it on time.” Alastor spoke while he grabbed your hand and guided you inside the restaurant. A host was at the front seeming to writing something “welcome to the FedOnPals how may- when he looked up he immediately panicked “T-The alastor by hen smiled wider “yes me the radio demon and my lovely wife!” Alastor stated proudly also just because you knew he was an attention whore so he wanted others to know he was there.
Of course some of the cannibals in the restaurant seemed nervous. “Well- yes um of course I see you’re name on the list so… let me b-bring to your table.” The man said clearly wanting to get out of this situation as fast as possible.
Of course you two got the best seats in the house “a waiter will be with you shortly very… shortly p-promise.” The host immediately left with only made alastor chuckle “I do love the perks of being an overlord.” “Aw even more than me?” You teased with a smirk, he smiled wider “no dear you know I can’t love anything more than you.”
You smiled “I love the outfits you picked for us by the way very classy.” “Of course, only the best for my wife.” Just then a waiter came in “hello I’m Mindy and I’ll have your orders.” The demoness spoke as she gave you two the menus.
As the demoness left you two picked out your orders, ate, alastor paid then you two left to go to a jazz club to dance “oh honey you rembered my favorite spot.” You spoke with pure joy “I could never forget, besides our love for jazz is how we meet.” You smiled brighten as you pecked his cheek making him lightly blush “adorable.” “Me? adorable!? dear don’t joke like that.” Alastor demanded making you laugh “oh honey alright just having a little fun.”
Alastor opened the door for you, the song ‘lets misbehave’ by Irving Aaronson filled you’re ears “oh that’s a good song.” You stated, you thanked alastor and went through and he went after you.
You immediately dragged him to the dance floor which he happily let you, both you begin doing the Charleston funny enough this song always reminded you have alastor.
He then brought you into the foxtrot dance, you both looked into each others eyes that are filled with love. He the suddenly gave you a kiss making you blush but immediately kiss back.
You two continued dance, happy to in each others arms and having a loving relationship and knowing that you two where always will be inseparable.
<- Back to MasterList or back to Hazbin Hotel
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roses-for-rosalyn · 14 days
Text
Cowboys
Ellie x reader (for now)
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summary: A stranger comes to your door- it turns out it's not one of your usual encounters cw: guns, cowboy lingo, fem! reader, cowboy crossdresser Ellie, eventual smut, blood, injuries, your average confusing lesbianism, eventual smut, no use of y/n wc: 3.6k
for those who prefer ao3 <3 gotchu minors DNI (I will steal all you pillowcases)
LINKS TO HELP PALESTINE l DAILY CLICK
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Nothing could beat the beauty of the sunset in the desert. Purples, blues, oranges, and yellows swirled together to paint a new masterpiece every night. And every night you would sit on your small, wooden porch with a cup of tea and watch as the sun slowly sinks into the horizon. Tonight was no exception. 
The sky becomes darker and darker until the moon and the stars come out, bathing the desert in a silver light. You struggle with the stubborn, old front door for a moment before you step into your little ranch house.
A chill runs through you as the temperature outside rapidly declines. You kneel in front of the fireplace and use the little kindling you have for a fire. It was enough to keep you warm for a few hours while you read yourself to sleep. Sometimes you felt lucky that it was a small enough house that the small fire would warm up the whole place. Your bed was just a few paces away from the mantle. 
You stand up and dust off your hands before starting to undress for bed. As you begin to unbutton your bodice a knock sounds from the front door. 
You scramble for your rifle by your bedside and check to make sure it’s loaded. You peek through one of your front windows to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger. At this hour and on the edge of town, your visitors weren’t usually friendly. 
It seems a cowboy has paid you a visit this evening. Haven’t seen one of those in a damn long time. A gun is proudly holstered on his hip next to a lasso, and his black large-brimmed hat keeps his face dark enough that you can’t quite make it out. 
He knocks again, louder. You creep up to the front door and slowly open it. Before he can process who opened the door you aim your rifle right at his chest. 
“Hands up.” You demand, your voice is surprisingly steady. 
“Woah there, I just stopped to ask for some directions.” A deep, yet feminine voice replies. It sounds like she was all too sure you weren’t going to be using that weapon on her, she didn’t even bother to move. You cock the gun, trying like hell to keep your expression blank, unphased while your entire body fills with adrenaline. She takes a step back and puts her hands up. Her hat still covers her face in shadow, it’s like confronting a ghost. 
“You should have stopped somewhere else.” You take a step towards her, closing the door behind you while keeping your vision trained on the woman. 
“You’re much different than the other women I’ve run into out here.” She looks up slightly, the moonlight illuminating pink, slightly chapped lips forming a smug smirk. “Where’s your husband, miss?”
“I swear if you don’t get back on your goddamn horse I’ll put a hole right through your chest.” she steps towards you, the muzzle of the gun pokes right under her collarbone. 
She finally looks at you, silver light exposes a sharp, feminine face dotted with freckles darkened by days in the sun. The sight of her face catches you off guard for just enough time, allowing her to grab the barrel of the rifle and pull it right out of your hands. She drops the gun and it clatters loudly to the ground, echoing through the empty desert landscape. She grabs your wrists before you can start fighting back and pins them above your head against the door with one hand. 
“There,” she grunts as you struggle against her grip, she’s surprisingly strong, “now we can have a conversation.” 
“Go to Hell.” You say, seething with rage and frustration because she was able to overpower you so easily. She shakes her head and laughs for a moment, saying something under her breath like all this trouble. 
You were just about to spit in her face when she said, “Where’s the nearest hotel darlin’?” Your eyes widen at the innocent question, slightly embarrassed. This was a first, she really just needed directions. She uses your stunned silence to talk some more, “I’ve been savin’ up so I could have a bed for the night. And I could really really use a bed tonight, miss.” You stop struggling against her grip and she lets go. She still has that stupid smirk on her face. “So if you could point me in the right direction it would be much appreciated.” 
“Head southwest, you’ll hit a trail that will lead you right into town.” You dust off your dress and straighten it out. 
“Much appreciated, darlin’.” She tips her hat and walks off toward her horse. You watch in shock as she mounts her horse and before riding away she says just loud enough, “I’ll be seein’ you.” And with a nod, she was off. 
You slowly bend down to pick up the Winchester, cradling it against your chest as you watch the stranger disappear into the night. As you head inside you wonder if you ever will see that strange woman again, and fall asleep debating whether or not you would want to.
**  **
The next morning you head to the school house. The steady feeling and sound of your horse trotting along the dirt path always forced your mind to wander elsewhere. Right now you couldn’t stop thinking about the woman from last night. The schoolhouse was right in the middle of town, would you see her again? Would she even recognize you? If she did, would she even try to talk to you?
The interaction was a bit embarrassing for you, but to be fair you had your fair share of vile men looking for trouble and hostile groups of Apache knocking on your front door. Your father had taught you how to use his Winchester rifle, the very same rifle you use now, and you mentally thanked him for it every night. You had only used it to kill one man, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and you gave him plenty of warnings. He didn’t believe your threats so now he was buried about 500 feet from the house in an unmarked grave, you were sure no one would miss a man like that. Most of the time the Apache would just come to ask questions about men passing through the area, they never tried to attack you, thankfully, but they would always come at the most ungodly hours and were quite impatient. 
Last night was a first, you had never had a cowboy knock at your door, and then she ended up being a woman. The idea of her was so intriguing and you couldn’t figure out why. For some reason, she shook you more than anyone else had since you lived out here. And you’d seen quite a lot.  
Your thoughts are interrupted as you reach town, the sound of rickety carriages, hooves against the packed dirt road, and the chatter of men in front of the Sheriff’s Office make it hard to focus. 
“Hello there, sunshine!” you hear a male voice call out. You turn towards the voice to see Jesse making his way past you on horseback, lugging today's newspapers to the apothecary. He made the trip from Sante Fe every morning. He was nice enough, you liked talking to him, but not as much as you felt like you should. The ladies at the apothecary, Dina, and Maria, would always encourage you to talk to him. They desperately wanted you to move on from your husband. He was long gone and you knew that, you were even thankful for it, which is why you were nervous to start again. You didn’t want to have to go through anything like that again. 
You wave back and smile, “Hi there, Jesse.” You decide to be polite, “Hear anything good today?” He tightens the reins of his horse and stops right next to you. 
“They struck gold in Elizabethtown, and there’s gonna be a shortage of tobacco ‘round these parts within the week because of a dust storm over in Tennessee.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll have a panic on their hands pretty soon then. I don’t know a man here who can live without their cigars.” You smile and Jesse laughs politely at your attempt at a joke. 
“Alright, don’t want the kids to show up before I do, I'd best be headin’ to the school.” You yearned to leave this awkward conversation through any means possible. Today was not the day for small talk. 
“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow then, miss.” Your head snaps towards Jesse. You’re suddenly transported to last night and listening to the way the cowboy’s words would drip from her lips, smooth as honey “Miss”. Calm and sure even with a gun pointed right to her heart. 
You quickly snap out of it and nod politely at Jesse as you begin to part ways. You head to the schoolhouse in a hurry, the kids gave you hell if you were late. 
** **
You’re beginning to lock up the schoolhouse when you hear footsteps approaching. “Well hello there, miss.” You recognize the voice all too quickly, you don’t even need to turn around. “Was really hopin’ I’d find you here.” 
As you fish into your pocket for the key you respond, “And how exactly did you find me here?” you turn around and begin to walk past her toward your horse. She follows you. From a brief glance at her, you can see she wears a bandana to cover her face, you could only see her eyes. “You don’t even know my name.”
“I just asked those nice ladies at the apothecary if they knew the women who lived just outside of town, they were more than happy a “nice gentleman” took interest in you. They told me just about everything they knew, your name, some snippets of gossip. I’m sure if I stayed they would’ve told me your life story” You finally turn to face her, your expression unamused. She took her hat off at some point when she was talking to you, her eyes are green, radiant in the unrelenting desert sunlight. You were almost jealous. She wore a dark blue button-down that sat surprisingly flat against her chest and suspenders. She could pass for a man if she wanted to. “So, I take it you don’t have a husband then?” 
“What’s it to you?” you cross your arms, defensively.
“I was just curious, I asked last night, but you weren’t exactly in a talking mood.” You swear you can make out her smirk under the bandana. 
“No, I haven’t had a husband for quite a while. Is that what you came all the way here to ask me?” She lowers her bandana and steps towards you, backing you into your horse. 
“No, I came to ask a favor.” She hesitates for a moment, “No one here can know that I’m, um, well you know..”
“A woman?” pretty easy to piece together after seeing the bandana. 
“Yea,” She backs away from you a little. Seems like someone is embarrassed to ask a favor. “It’s just easier for me to get things this way and it’s lookin’ like I’ll be staying later than I planned so..” 
“Alright, I won’t say anything.” She opens her mouth to begin to thank you, but you weren’t about to let an opportunity like this pass you by. “But, you owe me a favor then.”
Her excited expression disappeared as quickly as it came, if you weren’t looking you could have missed it, “Um, alright, what do ya need?” 
“You know your little visit last night?” You had been cooking this proposition up all day, hoping she would run into you again. 
“Yes.”
“Well, that happens to me about every other day. I don’t want a husband, but I do need a guard dog of some kind.” You didn’t want a man in your home, but you did want the protection of one, this was the perfect opportunity, almost too perfect. 
“A guard dog?” She seems mildly offended by you comparing her to a dog.
“I’m tired of not being able to sleep because of surprise visitors. And I’ll pay you in two square meals a day, tea, and my homemade moonshine.” She does not look amused. “And I won’t tell anyone you’re a lady.”
“I don’t know-”
“I know you’re almost out of money, I’m sure Tommy is bleeding you dry as an outside visitor. I won’t charge you anything.” Something in her loosens, you can see it.
“So do I sleep on your floor?”
“Or outside if you’d like, makes no difference to me. There’s a fire pit out there for ya” You turn around and mount your horse, eager to get home. “We got a deal?” You reach your hand down towards her. She hesitates before shaking it. 
“I’m Ellie by the way.” You nod
“Alright Ellie, I’ll see you at my house then. I trust you’re familiar with the address” She just nods, slightly shocked. You smile and then head off, the comforting sound of hoofbeats clearing the thoughts in your head. On the way home you tend to just listen to the sounds of the desert. After a day of loud, squealing children it was healing. You’re sure you’d go crazy if you lived in town. 
** **
You had just finished making your evening tea when you heard a knock on your door. For the first time in a long time, you don’t go into fight or flight mode. You open the door with a smile, part of you is surprised she even showed up. Your proposition was a little ridiculous, but that truly shows how desperate you are. 
“Hello there stranger.” You are really pushing it with this attitude, you can tell, but something in you likes it when she gets annoyed. 
“Hi.” She takes off her hat and lowers her bandana, something you’ve observed as a habit of hers, one of respect possibly. “So am I sleepin’ with the rattlesnakes or on your floor?” 
“You get bit by a rattlesnake come to me and I’ll suck the venom out myself. Until then you best set up camp before dark darlin’.” You smile at her sweetly. 
“Figured as much.” She smirks and walks away to set up camp.
“Dinner’ll be ready in 20 minutes. I hope ya like stew.” You call out to her. “Oh, and there’s a spring out back if you need any water!” 
** **
The stew finally thickens up to the way you like it, you pour it into two bowls and quickly slurp up your serving. Didn’t taste amazing, but it was food. 
You open your front door to bring Ellie her food and see that she’s already started a fire, she’s sipping from a silver flask just staring at the flames. 
You approach and wordlessly hand her a bowl of stew and a spoon. She looks up at you “You gonna eat?” 
“No, I- uh already ate.” More like inhaled but she didn’t need to know that. You point at her flask. “What’s in there?” 
“You’re tellin’ me you don’t know what’s in here?” She raises her eyebrows.
“I know it’s liquor, Ellie, I’m just askin’ what kind.” Her confused expression drops.
“Whiskey.” She looks at the flask in her hand, then at you. “Want some?” She clearly did not want to offer it to you. But you sit down next to her and reach your hand out for it. 
“Hand it over.” She hands you the flask. The metal was cool to the touch, almost shocking after the desert heat all day. You take a sip and the liquor burns its way down your throat, and your face scrunches a little. You were used to shooting whiskey, but this was particularly terrible, even worse than your moonshine. “Wow, that’s pretty awful.”
Ellie laughs between bites of stew, “You’re stew isn’t the greatest thing I’ve tasted either.”
“Hey!” You lightly punch her shoulder. She giggles even more. “You’re welcome for the food by the way.” You take another swig of whiskey and then hand the flask back to the cowgirl. 
“Thank you,” she takes the flask, “for the meal.” she hands you her empty bowl. “And a place to stay, even if it’s outside.” 
“We’ll see, maybe you’ll earn your way inside.” You take her bowl and turn to head inside. 
“Is that a challenge?” She calls after you. 
“Maybe.” You call back. 
You step inside and immediately undress for bed, the whiskey making your eyes droop closed. You can barely get your buttons undone before you fall into bed, for the first time in a while, not having to worry about dangerous strangers knocking down your door.  
** **
You wake up to a hasty knock coming from the front door. It’s still dark outside. You weren’t supposed to have to deal with this anymore. You grab your rifle and don’t even bother checking who is at the door simply out of annoyance. Would have bit you in the ass later if it was a surprise visitor. You open the door and cock the rifle. To your astonishment, you open the door to Ellie, holding her side. There’s a dark stain forming under her hands, her face is bloody and bruised. And yet she’s got a smug yet pained smile on her face. “This how you’re always gonna greet me?” 
“Jesus Ellie,” you usher her inside quickly. “What happened?” 
“You got some visitors, a group of Apache men.” She sits down in one of your wooden dining room chairs. You rush over to grab the small medical kit you had managed to fashion over the years. “They wanted to see you in particular, when I told them you weren’t accepting visitors they sort of attacked me. It was one versus six” 
“They don’t trust many people.” You undo Ellie’s suspenders and begin unbuttoning her shirt without even thinking. “Most folks round here shoot first and ask questions later, they don’t have any respect or patience for a stubborn cowboy.” You walk over, grab a candle and some matches, and light it so you can see. “Can’t say I blame them. I am sorry though I’d thought they’d see your gun and back off” 
“That is real optimistic of ya.” You remove her right arm from the sleeve of her shirt. She is wearing some sort of binding around her chest- so that’s how she’s managed to pass for a man. 
“Wow, that’s a big word for you.” You smirk at her as you clean your hands with some moonshine. 
“Really? I’m bleedin’ out and you’re making fun of me?” You press gauze to her wound, she hisses through her teeth. 
“Please, you’re not bleeding out. Shouldn’t even need stitches, just some cleaning and dressing.” You look up at her, you’re not quite sure, but even in the dim candlelight, you could swear she was blushing. You wouldn’t dare mention it when she’s already made herself so vulnerable. 
“Now for the hard part.” You take out a small bottle of vinegar. 
“Alright.” Ellie leans back in the chair, ready for the sting of the vinegar. 
“Here.” You take her left hand and place it on your shoulder. “Squeeze if you need to.” She nods and you take that as your cue to begin. You pour the vinegar on the wound and you watch as her abs contract, her hand squeezes your shoulder, pretty hard, but you know she was trying not to hurt you, even in pain. 
You stand up and gently wrap a few layers of gauze around her mid-section, just in case it starts bleeding again during the night. You were so, so close to her, you could feel the heat radiating from her skin. “You always wear that?” 
“Wear what?”
“The-the bandages, round your chest.” She looks down at them like she almost forgot they were there. Suddenly you realize how personal that question must be. “Sorry, I shouldn’t said anything. You don’t have to answer” 
“No, It’s alright. I don’t mind. Yes, I’ve worn this for a while now, easier to get around when you look like a man.” You nod and finish wrapping the gauze around her and pin it in place. You put a bit of vinegar on a piece of gauze and begin cleaning the cuts on her face. “Oh, you don’t need to do that, miss.”
“Please just let me clean off your face. Were you planning on walkin’ around town tomorrow with dried blood on your cheeks?” She opens her mouth to say something but closes it. She’s quiet as you gently clean her face, you can see every freckle, every scar, her eyes shining in the candlelight. It was odd being this close to her. You had never felt comfortable being this physically close to someone. Her warmth almost invited you in, made you want to press your nose to her neck, run your hands across her skin, feeling along all the freckles and scars, memorizing the spot of each one. you wanted to know her in a way you have never wanted to know anybody else.
“Hey,” a gentle voice grounds you back into reality. “I think my face is clean.” She smiles softly. She was right, at some point, you had gotten her face completely clean, you’re not sure how long she let you drag the cloth across her freckled cheeks before she said something. 
“Yeah, sorry.” You back away and put the blood-soaked gauze in the burn pile. “You should sleep in here. Don’t think anyone else will be coming tonight. I’ll go get your bedroll.” Ellie just nods and you go out to grab her things. 
You hurry back and set up her bedroll on the floor right next to your bed. She makes her way to it and sits down on the floor with a thud, careful to not contort her body in a way that could re-open the wound. She collapses onto the wool blankets. When you’re sure she’s settled you place your rifle back next to your bed and fall into your mattress, knowing you’ll be exhausted tomorrow.
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lmk what you think! Likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated!
LINKS TO HELP PALESTINE l DAILY CLICK
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maybankswhore · 1 year
Text
you look pretty , xavier thorpe
pairings: xavier thorpe x reader
summary: literally just xavier being absolutely smitten with you.
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Your stomach was in knots as you followed Xavier to his shed. The two of you were assigned to be study partners , something the teacher’s would do sometimes to help conversation between peers and try and encourage socialization.
Xavier Thorpe had always been cute to you. He was the boy with the shaggy brown hair that every girl at school swooned over. He had charm and charisma without even trying.
The two of you hadn’t ever spoke before. You were always way too shy , brushing the idea of confrontation off as silly. He had girls like Bianca— who were so beautiful , so intelligent and strong. Xavier hadn’t ever really paid attention to you like that , and you didn’t blame him for it.
“I don’t bring many people here.” Xavier sighed as the two of you strolled up to his shed , small and barely noticeable sweat beads dripped down his neck. “But I think you’re trustworthy enough.”
You squinted your eyes. “What if I’m the exact opposite?”
Xavier paused for a minute and hummed , taking a millisecond to think it over before shrugging. “Little Y/N could never—” he teased and spun back around to unlock the door.
Little Y/N.
So small but enough to make your cheeks turn bright pink at the small admission of him noticing you , more than you thought he did.
You walked in behind him quietly. Xavier immediately started straightening up but it wasn’t too messy to begin with. You couldn’t stop looking at everything he drew , the style so uniquely Xavier Thorpe–like. He had a way to make the paintings look alive , in a way that wasn’t picture perfect but in a way where you could feel each scene he was imitating.
You must’ve gotten lost in being in awe—and it was also you being nosey– but Xavier cleared his throat to break you out of your trance. Your head shot up , embarrassment flooding you as you imagined how you must’ve looked just staring around his room.
You were so caught up in your own embarrassment that you hardly caught the light pink dusting Xavier’s cheeks. “They’re nothing special.” He shrugged , digging into his slack pockets casually.
“They’re beautiful.” You blurted to reassure him.
He gave you a soft smile in response , feeling his chest get heavy at the look of endearment on your face.
An awkward silence engulfed the both of you after that. Neither party knowing what to say or do now , still not used to the close proximity and hanging out thing. With butterflies in your stomach , you gave the room a look over before looking back to Xavier— who’s eyes were already on you.
“So you study the first section and I’ll study the second and we can regroup after and tell eachother about what we read.” Cracking a bit as you spoke , you made an offer so Xavier and you didn’t have to suffer in that silence any longer.
“Seating is—” Xavier’s mouth pulled together awkwardly. “Limited. Sorry.”
You shrugged and began sitting down where you wear standing , pulling things out of your notebook. “Then we can sit here that way we’re together.”
Xavier watched you sit and get to work , barely passing him another look. He could tell you were nervous , a bit shy towards him. Your scrunched up face and tired eyes made him smile lightly , appreciating how your hair framed the features of your face , accenting your best qualities.
Xavier bit his cheek and sat down , still looking at you. “I like your hair like that.” He commented easily , a knowing smirk pulling on his face as his compliment flustered you.
Afraid to meet his eyes you simply blushed and smiled at your textbook. “Thanks.”
Minutes past and you found yourself getting fidgety. Xavier’s eyes practically burned into your head as you tried focusing on the reading. You tried not to think too much about how you were sitting or how you looked as Xavier watched you. You tried to play it cool like all the movies had taught you.
You had a silly little crush like all the other girls at Nevermore. You were nothing special. Xavier was always nice.
Or that’s what you liked to tell yourself.
Pressing your lips firmly together , you took a deep breath and mustered the courage to look up at him. His green eyes finding yours almost instantly. He bubbled with amusement.
“Xavier! You haven’t read a thing yet.” You sighed. His textbook wasn’t even open.
“It’s just boring me.” He exasperated. “We’re at school all day and then we have to bring it to our personal time! We literally live here.”
You laughed and couldn’t help but agree. “That’s true. But I also don’t want to not study and end up having to live here forever.”
“Living at Nevermore forever?” Xavier blew air out of his cheeks. “Talk about nightmare fuel.”
“Tell me about it.” You giggled.
Xavier paused and smiled as he watched you laugh with him. He likes how your eyes were so expressive , and how easy you laughed. Even your laugh sounded pretty. He was taken by you.
“You’re really pretty , Y/N.” Xavier blurted , his eyes wide with surprise at himself. A boyish look on his face as he waited for your reaction.
Your heart swelled at his compliment , and your heart beat like crazy.
“So are you.” You breathed back. You smiled , and Xavier’s lips turned up even bigger. He felt pride swell in his chest that you thought that.
Your stomach swirled with butterflies and you could just feel something good was happening.
7K notes · View notes
homeofthepeculiar · 1 month
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Over the Garden Wall - Chapter One
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Chapter One - Loathing Boredom
I'm baaaackkkkkkk and back on my Bridgerton shit.
After I watched Queen Charlotte, I couldn't get this idea out of my mind. And, as you know, I'm a simp for Benedict.
Takes place during season 2 as well as the "present" storyline of Queen Charlotte.
This fic will be really heavy, however, so please keep in mind the tags if you choose to read it! Even though our character is the daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, there will not be any physical descriptors. It's Bridgerton, so...you know. Use your imagination.
I hope you enjoy it <3
Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Y/N used, fem pronouns, unrealistic/dramatic description of mental illness, isolation, feelings of suffocation
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader
Word Count: 4.8k
As always, 18+ Minors DNI
It was always quiet in the cupboard. That was her only safe haven. It was the one place that she could turn to where nothing could find her. The voices and the doom didn’t exist there. It was only her and the dust bunnies. She preferred it that way. 
Y/N was the youngest child in a long line of children. But she never felt as though she had siblings. They were well about their lives by the time she really had any care for them. And, they kept their distance from her and their parents. It was hard to grow up as they did, so she didn’t fault them. However, in that large house, there was nothing to do. And with her illness, there was nowhere to go. 
She had been sequestered to a wing in the house for as long as she could remember. Her family rarely found themselves there. The only people she saw were her staff or her father when she was allowed to journey to their home in Kew which he called his home. 
Life was not easy to live when you were the daughter of the King and Queen of England.
----------
Y/N’s father had always been sick. No one really talked about it and when she would ask her mother, she would be brushed off. He would have good days and bad days. When she was younger, the good days far outweighed the bad, but that changed quite quickly. The last time Y/N truly remembered her father being fully there was when she had disappeared. 
Charlotte loathed being woken up. She was The Queen, there was no reason for anyone to wake her up…ever. She was allowed the grace of sleeping in and waking up whenever she pleased. So when Brimsley woke her up one night in a panic, she feared the worst. 
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, terrified. 
“N-No, Your Majesty. It is…Princess Y/N.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow and stood from her bed. One of her lady’s maids was already standing there with a night coat. She followed Brimsley’s hurried footsteps into the East Wing of the house. The commotion had woken the rest of the children that were still living there. 
“What is it, Mother?” Alfred wondered. He had always been the closest to Y/N seeing as they were the closest in age. Still, that was all about to change. 
Sophia, Mary, and Adolphus hurried behind them. Charlotte paid them no mind. When Brimsley opened the doors to the stateroom. Charlotte stopped immediately in the doorway, making her children run into her. 
There were tubes of paint littering the ground, some of them spilling out paint onto the carpet. In the distance, on the opposite side of the room, she saw a figure disguised by shadow. And, in front of the figure, was a large mural. A synthesis of all the colors of the rainbow that formed something of a galaxy. And then she heard her daughter and her blood ran cold. 
“Im…Impressionists are…they don’t see the sky. They don’t…They don’t know what they…”
Sophia opened her mouth to begin to speak, but Charlotte held up a hand to stop her. 
“Y/N,” Charlotte called out, continuing on into the room. She stepped in the paint but didn’t mind. “Y/N,” Charlotte called out again, this time more forceful. As she neared she could hear that her daughter was still muttering to herself. 
“They d-don’t see the stars…” Her neck twitched. “The stars.”
Charlotte held her chest and forced back tears. “Y/N.” Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on her daughter’s shoulder which made her flinch, but she didn’t turn. Then Charlotte turned her around, making Y/N drop the paintbrush. The girl was looking at one spot on the ground, her entire body shaking. “Y/N,” Charlotte said, her heart breaking. “Come back to me.”
“The galaxy…” she said quietly, neck twitching again. “The-the.”
“It is me…your mother,” Charlotte said, taking a deep breath. “You are home in Buckingham House.”
Y/N took deep breaths, her eyes finally coming back. She looked up to see her mother illuminated by candlelight. “M-Mother? It’s…It’s you.”
Charlotte pulled Y/N to her chest so that her daughter wouldn’t see her cry. “Take the princess to her room and get her washed up,” Charlotte called out to the wait staff. “Bring her something to eat and some tea.”
“M-Mother, what happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear,” Charlotte said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. Y/N was ushered away. 
“Is it happening to her too?” Mary asked. “What happened to Father.”
“Go back to sleep, children,” Charlotte said to them.
“But Mother—” Alfred started.
“Bed! Now!” Once the children were ushered out, Charlotte took a deep breath. “Brimsley, ready the carriage.”
“To Kew, Your Majesty?”
Charlotte nodded. “To Kew.”
----------
When Y/N woke up later that morning, she called for her lady’s maids to dress her, and they informed her that she had a guest. That was all they said. She was ushered out into the dining room to see her parents standing there. 
“Father,” Y/N smiled widely. She ran into his arms and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. That meant it was a good day. 
“My dear Y/N,” he said, pulling away. “Shall we eat?”
She continued to smile and sat at the large table between her parents. “Are you well, Father?” she wondered. “It has been some time since I’ve seen you.”
“I am well, my dear,” George nodded. 
“Y/N,” Charlotte said in her usual tone that made her daughter set down her silverware and take a deep breath. “We must talk about what happened last night.”
“I do not want to,” she said, picking up her knife and fork once more. The breakfast was more decadent than she was used to. She never understood why they put useless flowers on the fruit and sprigs of herbs on the potatoes. She picked them all off and created a wreath of them on the table. 
Her mother’s voice continued to fade in and out. She heard certain words like “doctor,” “sick house,” “paint,” and “need help.” And then, “Y/N!”
“What, Mother!?” Y/N spat. She could feel the air in the room tense immediately. “I understand, okay!? I know what this is! I know that you are disappointed and I know that this means I will be locked away from the public eye for the rest of my life! I know! I have seen what it has done to Father.” She stopped, looking at George apologetically, but he just nodded in understanding. Her hands started to shake and her breathing began to quicken. Quickly, George stood from his seat and knelt beside Y/N. He grabbed her shaking hand in his. 
“It is alright. We will take care of you.”
“You can’t even take care of yourself,” she said quietly through tears. “I don’t want this.”
“I know,” he nodded. “No one wants this.”
“W-Why did it have to be me?” She asked before breaking down into tears. In the distance, she heard her mother order everyone out of the room. 
----------
For the rest of the day, Y/N locked herself in the cupboard of her room. That was 10 years ago and Y/N had not seen the outside of the Buckingham House walls since that night and she rarely left the cupboard. It was safe there. It was quiet. As her father had always said and as she finally understood—the heavens could not find her there. 
Once she aged out of the need for a governess, she started having tutors join her at the house. It seemed that her mother believed keeping her busy would keep the fits at bay. It didn’t, but it did help keep her mind occupied. 
Marietta, her lady’s maid, was the one person that was always at her side. She knew how to deal with the fits and would always get people away when they started. She knew the quickest routes throughout the house to get her to her safe cupboard. She made life easier to live. Though it wasn’t the life she wanted. 
“Marietta?” Y/N asked one day as she sat in the gardens, easel and canvas in front of her. She was covered in paint and felt wholly free. 
“Yes, miss?” Marietta wondered from her seat in the sun. 
“I find myself quite bored with painting landscapes,” Y/N sighed heavily. “How many times must I paint this one area of the garden?” 
“We can move to the South garden if Her Royal Highness would prefer it?”
“I have painted it ten times over, Marietta,” she sighed. “The south garden, the west garden, all the dining rooms, details of sconces, portraits of every family member and every member of the staff…I cannot paint anymore here.”
Marietta looked apologetic. Even she got to go out onto the town, but Y/N never got to leave those walls. 
“Do you know that it has been ten years since I’ve seen a different sky? Ten years since I have seen a new face…T-Ten…” Y/N's hands started to shake so she set down the paintbrush. She took a deep breath, feeling her neck twitch. 
“Princess?” Marietta called out quietly, hoping to pull the girl back quickly. 
“T-Ten years,” Y/N continued, her body starting to convulse. Marietta stood so quickly that her chair knocked over. She ran to the princess and grabbed the girl’s hands. 
“Y/N,” she called out, brushing her hand along the girl’s cheek.
“T-ten years…almost as long as Jupiter,” Y/N said, her neck twitching again. She began to mutter under her breath and Marietta could not understand her. “Twelve years will be…I will be brought out…out of the sky. Jupiter will c-come back.”
“Y/N,” Marietta called out again, tightening her grip on the girl’s hands. “Take a deep breath. Come back to me.”
Y/N finally found Marietta’s face, her body twitching one last time. She took a deep breath. “I…I think I sh-should like to rest now.”
----------
It was her twenty-fifth birthday when Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands. She decided it was time to see the country her parents spent their lives representing. After a rather boring dinner with the siblings who deigned to join her, she retired to her bedroom, hands intentionally shaky so that everyone knew to not disturb her. 
The one good thing about spending all of her life in the house was that she had everyone’s schedule memorized. She knew when the guards would change their rotations and when the maids would take their late night drink in the kitchens. So, sneaking out was easier than it probably should have been. 
By the time she made it through the grounds, her heart was racing so hard that she feared she had made a mistake. Her hands had begun to shake and she could sense her mind slipping. “Mercury, Venus..E-Earth…Mars, J-Jupiter is…Jupiter is coming…” Y/N took a deep breath, pushing it away, trying to pull herself back. “S-s-saturn, Uranus…Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus.” She took another breath, pulling it all back in. 
She continued on out of the grounds. She hadn’t realized that it was so large, or at least, she had forgotten. Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, she made it to the main part of town. People were milling about and men riding horses. Y/N assumed that these were not well-respected members of the ton, for her mother would frown upon such behavior. She always said that the night was for whores and debauchery. Y/N found herself quite interested in such debauchery. 
As she continued through the town, she found herself in a neighborhood of large houses illuminated by lamp posts. There were guards standing out front of some of them, indicating that she had officially made it to the more respectable part of the town. As she continued on, she was almost barreled over by a broad-shouldered man. As she began to fall, he caught her, his bare hand grabbing her gloved one. 
“Oh, dear, my apologies,” he said, a smile on his face. Y/N found herself immediately taken by him and his stormy eyes. His face was half illuminated by the fire from the lamp posts. 
“I…” she started, trying to contain her stammer. 
“Yes?” he asked, an amused lilt to his voice. He felt Y/N's hand shaking in his so he gripped it between the pair of his. “Are you alright?”
She took a deep breath and then nodded. “Y-Yes, my apologies, sir.”
“No apologies necessary,” he chuckled. “I am sure I gave you quite a fright.”
“Yes, quite,” she said, barely recognizing what he had said. 
He seemed to gaze at her in a way that Y/N thought did not exist outside of the books she had read. She looked down at his hands grasping hers, his hands were stained black. He followed her gaze, his eyes widening. 
“Oh, apologies,” he chuckled nervously. “Charcoal. I promise, I am not normally this…disheveled.”
“Are you an artist?” Y/N immediately wondered, her eyes wide. 
“I…dabble.”
“I do as well,” she smiled. 
“Really?” he said, his smile impossibly wide. “What is your medium of choice?”
“Oils, preferably,” she responded, and the man’s eyebrows rose. “Are you surprised?” she wondered.
“Impressed,” he corrected. “I have yet to tackle the mountain that is oils.”
“It is quite fun once you get the hang of it. Of course, having intriguing subjects always helps.”
“What do you prefer to paint?” he wondered.
That was the question. “I have painted landscapes, architecture…portraits,” she responded.
“But what do you prefer?” he wondered.
Y/N took a moment to really think about it. All she knew was what she did not want to paint. “I have yet to discover it, it seems.”
They stared into each other's eyes, the sounds of the town fading away. Then, a carriage passed them, the galloping of the horses pulling them from one another. The man cleared his throat. 
“It was lovely to meet you, Miss…”
“Y/N,” she responded. 
“Y/N,” he repeated and she loved the way it sounded coming from his lips. “I apologise for ruining your gloves.”
“They are dreadful things anyway,” she responded, pulling a breathy chuckle from him. 
He looked at her curiously. “I do find it strange that a woman such as yourself is out here at night all alone.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. “I found myself…suffocated....at home.”
“I believe I understand,” he smiled and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could never truly understand. “Will you be safe getting home? I am afraid I have no horse nor carriage lest I would accompany you.”
She smiled. “I made it out all on my own, I believe I can make it back.”
The man smiled again and gave her a parting glance before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. Y/N felt herself stop breathing and her body began to shake, but not in the way she dreaded. It was in a new and fascinating way that she had never experienced before. 
“Then this is where I leave you,” he said, smiling once more, before turning to leave. 
As Y/N followed him with her eyes, something struck her. “Wait, sir!” she called out, he turned immediately. “Do you have a name or shall I continue to think of you as 'that man with charcoal on his hands'?”
He laughed heartily. “Benedict,” he responded. “My name is Benedict.”
When Y/N got back to Buckingham House, it was with a wide smile on her face. She made her way to her bedroom, avoiding every member of the staff. As she got inside, she found herself staring at the canvases that littered the wall. Romanticized versions of her prison. Instead of walking over to her easel as she usually did, she dug through her drawers for something she rarely used. A notepad and charcoal. She had to commit him to memory for she would probably never see him again. Though, she found it rather unlikely that she would ever forget him. 
----------
The blinds being pulled open was what finally woke Y/N up. She sat up, groaning at the light, and saw Marietta watching her with a scrutinizing eye. 
“What?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. 
“I cannot remember the last time I had to wake you up,” she said thoughtfully, then went about setting out the princess' clothes. 
“I was up late,” Y/N revealed. “Sketching.”
“Sketching?” Marietta asked, surprised. She stopped in her tracks and looked over to the corner where Y/N's sketchbooks and charcoals sat. Once she had finished setting out the clothes and Y/N had stood from the bed, the maid walked over to the desk. Y/N immediately dashed over and intercepted the sketchbook, causing Mariette to look at her curiously. “What are you hiding?” she wondered.
“It is of no concern to you,” Y/N responded. She held the sketchbook tightly to her chest which did not ease Marietta’s curiosity in the slightest. 
While Marietta helped the princess dress, she tried her best to not ask the questions that were pressing on her mind, though it was difficult. Y/N had never really been one for secrets, at least not in the safe walls of the palace. Marietta thought that she knew everything about the princess, but she might have been wrong. 
Y/N watched herself in the mirror as Marietta did her hair and she wondered what Benedict must have thought of her the night before. Did he find her as striking as she found him? She wanted to see him again, to feel his gaze upon her. But she had no idea where to even find him or if she would ever find him again. 
“Princess Y/N!” Marietta said with some form of impatience.
“What?” she asked, wincing as a rather sharp pin was slid into her hair. 
“I have been speaking to you for minutes,” Marietta claimed. “And yet it is though you have not heard me. Are you quite well? Are you feeling a fit come on?”
“No,” Y/N responded immediately. “I feel…fine, actually. Well, in fact. And yes, I was thinking. I am always thinking.”
“Only you seem more distracted than normal.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I have become bored of normal.”
She spent the rest of the day locked in her cupboard. No one bothered her in there, thankfully. But, for once, she was not hiding from the heavens, she was hiding from the outside world. Armed with her notebook and tin of charcoal, she drew Benedict over and over again, but she could not seem to get him right. She could not get the correct gleam in his eyes. He looked so beautiful lit by the firelight and it was almost impossible to replicate. 
The only way to be sure was to go out again to find him. 
----------
Sneaking out two nights in a row forced a chill down Y/N's spine. An excited chill, it was. The town was as alive as it had been the night before, but she did not find it as frightening. She did, however, realize a bit too far into the journey that she had no idea how to get to where she had met Benedict. She had been wandering, taking steps that were almost impossible to replicate. In fact, she was finally remembering just how long it had taken her to get home. She had taken turn after turn, her mind wandering. Finally, she found something that looked familiar—a very specific lamppost. Of course, it was impossible to determine if it was the same one, but something in her made her think that it was. 
So, Y/N found a bench close to it, sat down, and pulled out her sketchbook. She rarely got to play around with the night’s sky—leaving her room at night was seen as improper. If only they knew that she had left the palace grounds all together. Y/N was certain that she would be found out at some point, but she found herself not caring in the slightest.
The worst they could do would be to lock her in her wing for the rest of her life, which seemed to be what they wanted anyway. At least this way, she would have some taste of freedom, no matter how long it might last. 
It was difficult, she found, to accurately replicate the light shining from the lamppost with simple charcoals. She wished she was able to sit outside with her easel and paints. Perhaps this sketch could act as a guide. 
“Will wonders never cease?” a deep voice chuckled from the depths of the darkness. Having been staring at the light for so long, it took Y/N's eyes a moment to adjust, but, when they finally did, she saw Benedict approaching her. “Miss Y/N,” he smiled, bowing his head.
She immediately stood and gave a brief curtsey. “Benedict,” she responded with an equal smile. 
“Out on the town again?” he wondered. “I must say, I find it intriguing that you are even allowed out this late.”
She found herself chuckling nervously. “I believe it is best that my endeavors stay between us.”
Benedict all but smirked. “I shall keep my lips sealed, then. Though, if the wrong person were to see you, it is only a matter of time before the whole ton knows. Lady Whisteldown seems to have eyes everywhere.”
She furrowed her brow. “Who is Lady Whistledown?”
Benedict chuckled heartily, then stopped. “You truly do not know?” he wondered. She shook her head. His smile was contagious. “She is a mysterious gossip columnist. She seems to know all about what happens here.”
“Seems quite intriguing,” Y/N said with a tilt of her head.
“Some would say so,” he shrugged. “Others find her utterly intolerable.”
“Are you one of those?” she wondered.
Benedict chuckled. “I find it quite entertaining, in fact. Though, I have yet to be the subject of one of her witty reports. My feelings might change when it is directed towards me.” She nodded in thought. “Are you drawing?” Benedict asked, looking at the sketchbook in her hand. 
Y/N looked down, flustered all of a sudden. “Oh, yes.”
“Might I take a look?” he wondered.
She stammered for a moment. “It is nothing…amazing,” she warned him, carefully handing over the sketchbook. He took it with a similar care and looked at the drawing. A smile formed on his face.
“How have you captured the light so perfectly with charcoals?” he wondered.
Her lips parted in a gasp. “I was just thinking to myself that I was unable to do that.”
“I disagree,” he said with a smile. “Might I look at your other works?” he wondered, his finger poised to turn the page. Y/N immediately jumped and grabbed the sketchbook. 
“I-I don’t think…you would enjoy those as much.”
“My apologies,” Benedict said, slightly shocked at her outburst. 
“N-No, no, it is I who should apologise,” she said nervously. “I should not have reacted in such a way.”
“It is alright,” he said, his smile reforming. “I too am possessive of some of my works.”
“I would love to see them sometime,” she said immediately, then shut her mouth. “I-If…Apologies if that was too forward—”
“I would love to show you,” he responded. “Though, I would find it improper to do it late at night. Perhaps…we can meet during the day?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I wish that were possible,” she responded. 
Benedict simply nodded. “I find you quite intriguing, Y/N.”
She swallowed harshly, nerves filling her entire body. Her hands started to get clammy and she feared she would drop the sketchbook onto the ground beneath her. “I don’t believe anyone has ever called me intriguing before,” she chuckled.
“Perhaps they do not know you well enough,” Benedict chuckled.
“And you do?” she wondered genuinely.
“I would like to,” he responded smoothly. She felt all of the breath leave her lungs. She would like nothing more but knew it was impossible. “That was too forward…I apologise.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “I would…I would like to as well, but it would not be possible.”
“I would like to know why, but I will not press the matter,” he responded.
Y/N nodded in thanks, words completely escaping her. Suddenly, she could hear the sounds of others' footsteps on the cobblestone, she could feel the heat from the lamppost, and her hands began to shake. “I…I must go,” she said, immediately turning to leave. 
“Wait,” Benedict called after her. She turned back around to look at him. “Might I accompany you home? It is quite dangerous for a woman to be out here alone.”
“It is quite far, I can manage.” With that, she turned and began walking swiftly. She took deep breath after deep breath. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus…Mercury, Venus…”
----------
She made it back to the palace without slipping which caused her to let out a sigh of relief. She quietly closed her door behind her and turned to lean against the wood, a smile on her face.
“Where were you?” a voice asked, pulling her out of it. Her eyes widened to see Marietta standing in the middle of her bedroom, still in her night things.
Y/N cleared her throat. “Outside,” she responded with ease. She set her sketchbook down on the desk and took off her cloak. 
“No, you weren’t,” Marietta said. “I have been looking all over for you. I almost alerted the guards! Where were you?”
Y/N turned. “You do not speak to me like that.”
“Shall I inform Her Majesty?”
“N-No!” Y/N jumped. “Please, please, Marietta…Just let it go.”
Marietta breezed past Y/N, who thought she was leaving. In fact, she stopped at the desk and picked up the sketchbook. She immediately opened it, much to the horror of the princess. 
“Y/N…” Marietta said, warning in her voice. “Where were you?”
“Outside,” she responded. 
“I was terrified,” Marietta responded, still gazing down at the sketchbook, more specifically, at a portrait of Benedict that Y/N had yet to finish. “I thought you had one of your fits. I thought you were hurt.”
“I am fine, Marietta,” she assured. “I was simply…outside.”
“How far outside?” she wondered.
Y/N swallowed. “Quite far…” she responded quietly. 
“And what were you doing?” Marietta asked slowly. It was obvious that she was nervous for the answer.
“Sketching a lamppost,” she responded. She was not lying about it, in fact. Of course, she was being rather vague and she knew that Marietta could see right through it. They knew each other almost too well to hide anything. 
“Alone?” Y/N did not know how to respond to the question. “Princess Y/N, were you alone?”
She swallowed harshly. “Not…completely.”
Marietta took a deep breath, her eyes closing. She closed the sketchbook and set it back down on the desk. “If you were to be found out—”
“But I have not been.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Marietta asked, shocked.
“Only twice,” she sighed. “I knew I would be found out, I just did not imagine it being so soon.”
“And this man…” Marietta said, pointing towards the sketchbook. “What is your relationship to him?”
Y/N shrugged. “I hardly know how to quantify it, Marietta,” she responded truthfully. “I only just met him last night. But…I have not been able to stop thinking about him since. Nothing improper has happened, I assure you.” Marietta’s shoulders immediately relaxed, though, only slightly. “And perhaps it is only because he is the first new face I have seen in over ten years…but…he makes me feel—” she started, then cut herself off, trying to figure out the words. “Well, I do not know…But he makes me feel, Marietta. For so long, I have been locked in this place. Controlled by my mind, controlled by my mother…And I want it to end. I need it to end. I can no longer breathe here. I have not been able to breathe for so long and he…he gave me my breath again.”
“So you will continue to see him,” Marietta realized. 
Y/N looked at Marietta for a long moment. “I only wish that you will not stop me.”
“I should,” Marietta revealed. “I should stop you. Because you know this cannot end well.”
“I know,” she agreed. 
“Does he know?”
“About what?”
“Any of it? All of it?”
“He knows nothing,” Y/N said. “Not of my title, nor my family, nor my…affliction. And I hope he never will.”
“So you will—what? Continue to lie to him? What if he finds out? What will you do then?”
Y/N sighed heavily. “I do not know, Marietta. All I know is that…he wishes to know me. And I will let him know only what is relevant. I will let him know who I am outside of these walls…on my good days. I will let him know who I really am.”
Marietta nodded apprehensively. “Do you even know his name?”
“Benedict,” Y/N replied with a whistful sigh.
Marietta’s eyebrows rose. “Bridgerton?”
--------------------
A.N.: So??? Let's just say, this will be a whirlwind. Will the Queen ever let Y/N out of the castle? Will Benedict ever discover her true identity? Who knows?
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist
Love always,
Alma xx
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luveline · 2 years
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𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]
warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing
𓆩❤︎𓆪
A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and- 
A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins. 
Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden. 
"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.
"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly. 
You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips. 
"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants. 
"Well, it's nothing like that." 
The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.
"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing." 
Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it." 
You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move. 
You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door. 
"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin. 
"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point." 
"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip. 
"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left." 
Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains. 
The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously. 
"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous." 
"You like her?" 
"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat." 
"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere." 
"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"
"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff. 
"Right," he says. 
You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile. 
"Do you like to read?" you ask. 
Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies." 
"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear." 
He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you." 
You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?" 
"Uh…" 
"I've got pink lemonade." 
"Oh, then definitely." 
You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers. 
Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin. 
"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table. 
"I'm good, thanks," he says. 
"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest." 
"You're a Tempest girl?" 
"Everybody plays Tempest," you say. 
Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest." 
"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."
His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.  
"How did you know that?" he asks finally. 
"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd." 
"I could be." 
"But you're not." 
You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat. 
"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed. 
"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon. 
He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you." 
He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile. 
"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.
You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?" 
"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.
"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.
"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?" 
"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke." 
"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him. 
"What do you want?" Steve asks him. 
"Why do you assume I want something?" 
"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky." 
"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring. 
"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask. 
Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily. 
"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.
Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners." 
"Can I please have a ride-" 
"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry." 
Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?" 
"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way." 
"Uh-huh," Dustin says. 
The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands. 
"I'm sorry about him." 
"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do? 
"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade." 
"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door. 
Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off. 
The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.
When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth. 
-
"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door. 
You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed. 
You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces. 
You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?" 
Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively. 
"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently. 
You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.  
"Skating? I don't have one." 
"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades." 
You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?" 
"Now!" he says.
"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin. 
Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait." 
You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?" 
"Totally," Steve says. 
You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.
You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand. 
Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.
You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best. 
“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.
“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.
“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs. 
“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”
Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”
There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks. 
“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.
“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit. 
“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?” 
“About what?”
“About Springsteen."
You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.
“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.
The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here. 
Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you. 
Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck. 
“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question. 
You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”
Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”
“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”
“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap. 
“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”
“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich. 
You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly. 
“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.
“Robin," Steve chides lightly.
“What?” 
You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.
Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.
She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without. 
“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance. 
Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”
“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying. 
"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!" 
"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly. 
You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice. 
"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.
You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.
Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you." 
"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.
You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids. 
You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"
"Steve is." 
"I didn't bring-" 
"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."
Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes. 
Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails. 
"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him. 
"I'm not good." 
"You're doing great!" 
He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him. 
"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock. 
You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down. 
"Are you okay?" he asks. 
You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye. 
You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering. 
"I'm sorry!" you say. 
"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out." 
"Thanks to you." 
You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart. 
"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you." 
Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot. 
"I think I might need to sit down." 
"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective. 
You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot. 
"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens. 
"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up." 
Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it. 
"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.
"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends. 
"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side. 
"They should lock you up." 
You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him. 
"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out. 
Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner." 
"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies. 
"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking. 
He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close. 
"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that." 
Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?" 
"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight. 
She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red. 
-
Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it. 
He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player. 
Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.  
The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over. 
He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air. 
Have you seen her?
So fine and pretty.
He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you. 
"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight. 
"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through. 
You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!" 
And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground. 
He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him. 
He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude." 
Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty. 
You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath. 
"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."
He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy." 
You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.
"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word." 
His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word." 
The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.
He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth. 
"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.
"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in. 
"Sick. Apparently." 
"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?" 
"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday." 
You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?" 
"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September." 
"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense." 
"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list." 
"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily. 
Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche." 
You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!" 
"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?" 
His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me." 
"Of course they did. Why didn't you?" 
You glare at him. "I was busy!" 
"For the month it was in theatres?" 
"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!" 
"Like what?" 
"Like school!" 
"Everybody has school." 
"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself. 
"Sorry, sweetheart."
You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."
"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies. 
You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"
He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality. 
Yes, it's love in the third degree. 
You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.
"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?" 
He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.
"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly. 
He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus. 
Dance the night away. 
"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling. 
"You're enough for the two of us." 
You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?" 
"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work." 
"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?" 
"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks. 
You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."
"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer. 
"You'll burn your retinas." 
"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?" 
You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller. 
"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours. 
You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?" 
Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO". 
"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?" 
"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one." 
"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly. 
"Shut up, Steve." 
"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in." 
The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve." 
"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual. 
-
Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect. 
You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge. 
He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel. 
"Y/N. Hey," he says. 
Still nothing. 
He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping. 
"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.
You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.
"Hello." 
"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.
"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked." 
"You're not naked," he says. 
"I'm naked. Stop looking at me." 
Steve turns away obligingly. 
"Stop laughing at me, Harrington." 
"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.
"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep." 
Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car." 
"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."
You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs. 
"You're messing with me," he says.
"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you." 
"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?" 
You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty." 
"So are you." 
"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small." 
"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you." 
"You're sure?" you ask quietly. 
Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure." 
The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his. 
"What are you doing here?" you ask. 
Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy. 
"Steve?" you ask. 
"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers. 
"Woah, thank you!" 
"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month." 
You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?" 
"Nope." 
You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion. 
"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits." 
You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it." 
Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing." 
"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie." 
"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away. 
"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything." 
"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it." 
You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke." 
"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested. 
-
You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is. 
Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything. 
You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place. 
That's a dedicated employee right there. 
You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch. 
"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful. 
"Steve," you say softly. 
"What?" 
"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me." 
He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over. 
"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?" 
You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature. 
"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down." 
Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.
Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back." 
"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.  
"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?" 
"It's on." 
Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?" 
"I'm sleeping fine." 
"Are you sure?" 
His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face. 
You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout. 
"You can tell me." 
The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue. 
"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…" 
"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek. 
You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud." 
"It doesn't sound stupid." 
"No?" 
"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs." 
You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then." 
"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common." 
"You see me." 
"When I'm annoying you at work." 
"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday." 
"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator. 
"I can't stop watching the door." 
You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache. 
"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…" 
You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped  completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently. 
You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door. 
"Dustin," you both say. 
"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says. 
You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door. 
"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?" 
"She's got heat stroke." 
"I don't!" you call hoarsely. 
"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?" 
"She has heat stroke." 
You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things. 
"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again. 
The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion. 
"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket." 
You laugh again, twice as loud. 
"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head. 
"What don't you understand about heat stroke?
"Potential heat stroke," you interject.  
"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude." 
"You should take her to the hospital."
You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?" 
Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype." 
"For what?" 
"Top secret." 
You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs. 
Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?" 
"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat." 
Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!" 
"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa. 
"I'm not dying, Steve." 
Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense. 
"Are you good?" he asks. 
"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore." 
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead." 
"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you. 
"Don't die of heat stroke." 
He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?" 
"Yeah?" 
"What about The Breakfast Club?" 
He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!" 
You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away. 
"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew. 
-
Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.
"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes. 
"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says. 
Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows. 
"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.
"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night." 
Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?" 
"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask." 
Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half. 
Better safe than sorry. 
"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge. 
Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans. 
"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.
His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly. 
"No!" 
"You're her boyfriend, right?" 
"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly." 
Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows. 
"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles. 
Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend." 
Four sets of eyebrows raise. 
"I am! I'm romantic." 
"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says. 
Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look. 
"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?" 
"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly. 
"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.
"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her." 
"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says. 
Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?" 
"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me." 
He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?" 
They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in. 
"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails. 
"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess. 
-
Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me? 
You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath. 
It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression. 
It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever? 
What if I feel this lonely forever? 
You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands. 
Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve? 
If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door. 
Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.
You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit. 
"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance. 
"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.
The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go. 
"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath. 
"Hey." 
"What are you doing here?" 
"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!" 
You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony. 
"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me." 
You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay." 
He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path. 
He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" 
A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates. 
"Okay," you say weakly. 
He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk. 
The smell is beautiful. A floral wave. 
The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas. 
"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears." 
"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble. 
"Half the store. The other half's on standby." 
"Standby?" 
"I worried you might not have the space." 
"I won't." 
Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping. 
"Why did you do this?" 
"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-" 
"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion." 
"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal." 
You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious. 
He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So." 
"So you got me a florists?"
"Half." 
You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it. 
"They're for me?" you whisper. 
"For you. All of them." 
You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid. 
"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity. 
"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone. 
He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that." 
You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly." 
"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first." 
You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose. 
"Do you like them?" 
The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder. 
"I didn't know which one was your favourite." 
All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet. 
You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger. 
"Thank you, Steve." 
"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse." 
"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you. 
"Shit," he mutters. 
You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face. 
"You're okay, baby," he says. 
You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down. 
The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.
Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.
"I know what'll cheer you up," he says. 
You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out. 
Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar. 
"Oh my god." 
"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.
"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand. 
You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.
"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree." 
He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.
"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing. 
"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs. 
"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance. 
"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!" 
It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo. 
Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop. 
He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly. 
"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask. 
"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song." 
"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album." 
"You said however long I wanted!" 
"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess. 
"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"
You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush. 
When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency. 
"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully. 
"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels. 
You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy. 
"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek. 
"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh. 
"Good thing," you agree. 
He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again. 
You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing." 
"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.
"You did." 
"Sorry, I-" 
You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again. 
"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness. 
"Yeah?" 
"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?" 
"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.
You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond. 
"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap. 
"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek. 
You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.
"You're beautiful," he says. 
It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thanks for reading!
13K notes · View notes
popamolly · 30 days
Text
‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
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summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.
CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE
warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder
author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!
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In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.
Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.
Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.
In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.
As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.
That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.
“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”
“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”
“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.
You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”
“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.
“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”
With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”
You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”
“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”
What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”
Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”
“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.
“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”
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“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”
It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.
“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”
You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”
“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”
“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.
“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”
“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”
“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”
“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”
“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”
“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”
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Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’
Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?
“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”
And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.
You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.
“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”
“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”
“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”
The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.
Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.
“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”
The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.
“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”
“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.
“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.
“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.
The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”
“600!” Another shouts.
“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”
Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”
“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.
“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”
Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”
“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”
“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”
“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.
The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”
Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.
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© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.
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natriae · 1 month
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Oh to make out with omi omi like it’s so messy and hot and surprisingly he love it too. Maybe one day u are having drinks and things get heated. OMGGG a roommate au fuckkkkk my mind goes burrrrrrrrrr
NO FRR needy omi makes me go brrrr
I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT WRITTING THIS SOONER
WARNINGS: 17+, BONER ALERT!!, drinking
Friday nights with your roomate weren't unusual. The two of you often going to the fanciest bars in Tokyo with the best views. You'll have to thank the Volleyball Association for his hefty paycheck. The two of you didn't get to see each other often between you pursuing your master's degree, Kiyoomi traveling and his tough practice schedules. The most interaction you guys have had in the pass month was passing him in the hallways. Him always being half dead and you... well you weren't in the best shape as well.
So you decided that the last friday of the month was Omi and Y/N time. While you wanted to spend this time showing him how greatful you are he took you in, omi had the idea of going to "better" establishments. By better he means 3 star michelin restaurants... the ones you can't afford.
Yes, it was nice to see that his name allowed the two of you to experience these beautiful places, but as of lately these seemed more like dates rather than two roommates catching up. Not that your opposed to a date with Omi. Have you seen his body? But he's seen you at your worse. Crying to him at the bar in Ongiri Miya about how your getting evicted from your apartment and how your behind on loan payments. He's seen you sick and begging for him to get you toilet paper. If anything he probably takes you to these places to be his wing woman.
One too many drinks later, and the two of your are stumbling out of the restaurant to his luxurious car. Kiyoomi was much better at hiding his drunkenness than you where. The street lamps were just dim enough to hide the pink dusting his cheeks.
All of your weight pressed into his side while he attempted to keep you upright. "Y/N you need to work with me," the taller man grunts before decides to lift you up over his shoulder. "we need to go home," he breaths into the chill night air.
"whoa, big boy take me on a date first," you giggle into his back. Hitting one of his butt cheeks with the palm of your hand.
You're flipped back upright once you reach his car. He opens the back door and tosses you in. It takes a moment for your brain to register that he got in next to you. "why aren't you driving?" you question, laying your head on his shoulder.
"I'm drunk...gonna wait till I sober up a bit," he states closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Always so responsible. "Also we live together, and that was a date, so I wouldn't be in the wrong," he says sternly looking down at you.
Popping your head up you look at him with furrowed brows. "what do you mean that was a date?"
"Was it not?" He questions, more so to himself than to you. While Kiyoomi is lost in his own thoughts yours run wilding thinking of all the times the two of you have gone out like this. He never said any of these were dates...
You watch as Kiyoomi's adam's apple bobs in his throat. If his face wasn't flushed enough it's clear now. His ears bright red as he stutters out his next words. "d-did you not want this to be a date?"
Did he really think these were all dates? You attempt to look at him in the eyes, yet his fail to meet yours. His head remains looking at the window leaving you with only the view of his red ear. Memories flood your mind in attempt to find the word date leave his mouth during any of your plans. Yet all you can remember are the times Kiyoomi was left stressed he wouldn't have time to shower and change, how he spent an abnormally long time on his hair, or how he always would sneak his card to the waiter so he paid for your meal.
"Hey, look at me," you whisper, lightly moving his chin to face you. His pupils widen over his already dark eyes making them look like perfect tapioca pearls. "we're these all dates?" did you want these to all be dates? Kiyoomi nods his head slowly, and you drop your hand from his face. Unwanted touch was not the man's specialty, yet his hand drops to yours. Placing it back on his cheek, as he looks into your eyes.
"I didn't know how to ask you, and I definitely drank to much tonight," his face flushes more as he rubs your hand softly. "Miya told me to ask you tonight, but i was.."
"Kiyoomi you can say you were nervous," you whisper in the dark car inches from his face.
"never," he smirks. That's something you can tease him about tomorrow. You want nothing more then to kiss the stupidly handsome man. "didn't think you'd like me.. you know with my habits," he states barely loud enough to hear.
"how can I not, at least i know you don't have shit stains," you giggle, leaning closer, noses almost touching. He giggles with you, a sound you don't get to hear often. The deep breath he takes is almost enough of a distraction for you to miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips.
"Kiyoomi"
"huh" he responds on autopilot.
"do you wanna kiss me?" you ask, eyes widening like that of a doe.
"may I?" the gentleman in him asks. Not even a second later your leaning completely into him. Leaving a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes remain shut after you seperate. Your nose still touching his, a small smile escapes as you lean in to kiss him longer. His hand comes to rest on your neck to push you futher into him. You may have broken Kiyoomi.
He bites your lower lip as his hand leaves your neck to wrap around your body while his other hand grabs your thigh to help situate you on his lap. Both of your hands hold his face as you deepen the kiss. You can't help, but strattle him while your tongues explore each others mouths. It's mess and sloppy as saliva drips from the corner of your mouth. His large palms move under your dress to kneed your ass. Your not even sure this is your Kiyoomi with the way his hand slaps, strach that, spikes your ass. Kneading the flesh before repeating the action. Your left unbuttoning his shirt as he begins to trail kisses down your neck. His hands go to waist to push your heat to his hard on.
They were right, it's always the quiet ones.
Your hands tangle in his hair as your left grinding onto him. At this point your dress is bunched up around your waist, allowing Kiyoomi's hands to play with the string of your thong.
Kiyoomi's deep breaths lead you on as you kiss down his neck. "y/n, y/n, not here," he breathlessly rasps. He hears your whine as you grind a little harder into him. He laughs before bringing your face to look at him. His hairs a mess, shirt halfway unbottoned, and his breathless. What god do you have to thank for this sight.
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honeyedmiller · 5 months
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Checkmate | Joel Miller
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pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader
warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, joel mid 40’s), reader is depicted as shorter than joel but otherwise has no other physical description (picture in mood board is for aesthetic purposes only), mutual pining, making out, smut (thigh riding, brief mentions of f oral receiving, unprotected [bc] piv, slight cockwarming, riding), reader’s best friend’s name is hailey, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.
huge thank you to my baby @party-hearses for beta reading this for me. i love you to a million pieces 🖤
a/n: also this is my 900 follower celebration?! i still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people follow me and enjoy what i reblog / write. i love u all so, so much. i also feel kinda bad bc i hyped this one shot up a lot only for the smut to not be that descriptive, but this is more about joel and reader’s feelings than what they essentially do with each other. hope y’all still enjoy it :’)
word count: 4.6k
synopsis: you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.
dividers by the lovely @saradika
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You wiped your sweaty brow on your forearm as you lugged a fifth box into your new apartment. You’d finally saved up enough to move out of your parent’s place. Your master’s degree had paid off after all, landing you a job in the heart of Austin, Texas. You were only a thirty minute drive from your parent’s house, which your mom totally loved. She couldn’t wait to help you decorate your place and hand you down the pots and pans that’d been in the family for quite some time. 
The move wasn’t necessarily a tough one, because you were ready to get out of your parents’ hair. You all got along well, but you were dying for your own privacy and space that you could call your own. You couldn’t be happier now that you had it. 
In the midst of the move, your dad insisted he’d phone his best buddy, Joel. You’d only heard about him a handful of times while you were away at college, and in the months you’d been back with your parents, your dad always went over to his house to watch sports or hang out. When the whole family was invited over to his house for barbecues, you always found yourself either already having other plans with your friends, or you were working. Today was finally the day you’d meet the mystery man that is Joel Miller. 
And that’s when you saw him. Tall, broad, ruggedly handsome, body clad in an army green shirt that showcased his biceps and veiny forearms, dark jeans that showed off the muscle of his thick thighs, and scuffed up boots from plenty of days, weeks, hell–months of hard work that added an inch or two to his already towering height. 
He must’ve been in his forties if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was dusted with slight specs of gray, the  scruff on his jawline mirroring the hair on his head. His nose was strong, and was perfectly fitted with his face. He had dark brown eyes that were kind yet held some kind of sternness—a look that made your panties easily dampen. His mustache framed his lips that were pursed into a slight frown, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like all over your body. 
He looked at you just the same, all but hungry eyes roaming your body as he caught a glimpse of you for the first time. Like a damn deer caught in headlights. 
He was your dad’s best friend?
Oh, you were truly, utterly, royally fucked. 
You introduced yourself to him and he shook your hand, the calloused pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin sending a string of butterflies through your stomach. 
You genuinely don’t think you’d ever been this attracted to someone at first glance. 
After he and your dad helped you move all of your stuff into your new place, you’d concluded two things: one, Joel Miller was a man of very few words–at least, around you that is, and two: you were sure he was attracted to you just as you were to him. 
Was it so wrong to want someone a little bit older? Perhaps not. What was wrong was that he’s your dad’s best friend. You shouldn’t want someone like that. Someone you were absolutely sure could handle you in the best way possible. 
About a month after you’d finally gotten settled into your apartment, you invited your best friend Hailey over a movie night and a glass of wine. You told her about your predicament, to which she couldn’t help but be the little devil on your shoulder and encourage you to go after Joel. 
“Look, I know he’s your dad’s best friend n’ all, but what he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?” She questions, legs tucked underneath her body as her lips curl into a sly grin before she takes another sip of her wine. 
“I mean yeah, but I’ve never done something like this before. An older man, who’s closely acquainted with my dad? I oughta be out of my damn mind.” You sigh, rubbing your temple. 
“Live a little, babe. You’ve been a good kid to your parents your whole life. It’s time you do something for you for once and go after it. Make a subtle move on him next time. That might spice things up a bit.” She suggests, pursing her lips. 
“You’re right. But if I make a move and it backfires, I’m completely fucked and I’m moving to the other side of the country.” You laugh exasperatingly. 
She reaches over to pat your thigh softly. “Only one way to find out.” 
-
You hadn’t seen Joel as of late, but you weren’t phased by it. It’d been a really busy couple of weeks at work, and you were joining your coworkers tonight for a celebratory t.g.i.f. drink. 
Hailey was over at your apartment getting ready with you and you both were already two shots of tequila in. You weren’t much of a drinker, but truth be told, you needed this night out. 
“So I’m either between this dress or this one.” You explain to Hailey, and she studies the options you held up for her to thoroughly inspect. It was either between a black satin mini dress with sparkly straps, or a strapless maroon bodycon dress 
“This one,” She points at the black dress. “With your red kitten heels.” 
You toss the maroon dress onto your bed and take the black one off of the hanger, changing into the dress after Hailey goes to pour herself another shot. You slip aforementioned heels on and give yourself a once over in your full body closet mirror, satisfied with your appearance. 
You wanted to look and feel hot tonight, and it was safe to say you achieved just that. Maybe you’d pick up some hot guy at the bar tonight. He may not be no Mr. Miller, but anyone to take the tension of the past couple of weeks away would suffice. 
You were applying one last layer of lipgloss when Hailey’s knuckles rapped on your door twice, head peeking into your bedroom. 
“Uber’s here. Let’s go get fucked up.” 
You laugh at her enthusiasm, hot on her trail as you locked up and headed down to your Uber. 
The ride was only fifteen minutes before you pulled up to the bar that was already packed. You both slipped inside, spotting your coworkers at a table. They were laughing about something when you and Hailey walked up, and they all cheerily greeted you with hugs. 
It wasn’t long before the DJ was playing some line dancing songs, and multiple people made their way to the dance floor to move their bodies. You and Hailey were the only ones left at the table as you laughed at your coworkers trying to keep up with the beat of the song. 
“Mr. Hottie over there has been checking you out for some time now.” Hailey leaned into you, nudging your side with her elbow as she jutted her head toward a man at the bar. 
You felt your body drained of warmth as you saw none other than Joel Miller standing at the end of the bar, sipping on his beer tentatively. His eyes were locked on you, and the stupid butterflies rumbled around in your stomach once more. 
“Hailey, that’s him.” You say, swallowing thickly. 
“Who?” She gives you a questioning look, the drinks she’s had tonight making her mind a bit fuzzy. 
“My dad’s best friend. That’s Joel.” You say, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. 
“Oh, girl, if you don’t make your move I’ll force you to make one. He’s a fucking hunk.” 
Your eyes trailed back over to him, taking in his appearance. He switched out the green t-shirt for a gray one, dark wash jeans, and the same boots he wore when he showed up to help you move into your place. 
The way he was looking at you made you want to do extremely sinful things with him. Fuck. Now or never. 
“I’ll be back.” You tell Hailey, and her expression brightens up and cheers you on as you slip off of your seat. 
You saunter over to Joel, drink in hand, and you sip on it through the straw as you approach him. He looks down at you amused, eyes nearly black as he scans you from head to toe. 
“You stalking me now, Mr. Miller?” You tease, leaning up against the bar top. 
Joel scoffs a laugh and sips on his beer once more. “Y’think I don’t have something better to do with my time than to see where you are on a Friday night?” He retorts, but it wasn’t mean. You were sober enough to hear the hint of playfulness in his tone. 
“Mm, not really.” You shrug, feigning an innocent smile up at him. 
So you could be a brat. He bet he could fix that attitude in no time. 
He chuckled at his own thoughts, finishing off his beer as he set the empty bottle down on the sticky bar top. 
“You caught me, darlin’. Any woman as ravishing as you is worth stalkin’.” The slight curl of his lip made you smile. You sipped on your drink some more as you watched the patrons of the bar dancing to the current song. Your eyes avert back up to his gaze, and you step closer to him. 
His eyes move down to your glossy lips wrapped around the straw, wishing so badly that your lips were wrapped around something else right at that moment. 
“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Miller?” You ask, reaching a hand out to touch his bicep. His body goes rigid at your touch, and you fear you’ve gone too far so your hand immediately drops. Joel does a quick scan of the bar before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his sturdy body. 
“My brother’s best friend’s birthday.” He shrugs, and you nod. You felt like a fucking hummingbird with how fast your heart was beating, and you were sure Joel could feel it with the close proximity between the two of you. 
The air became thick and heavy. Your breathing accelerated, looking up at Joel and into his lust-clouded eyes. His grip on your waist tightened in the slightest, and you nearly whimpered as you felt his bulge through the denim fabric of his jeans. 
“Joel.” Your voice was merely a whisper, and he smirked down at you. 
“Care to line dance, darlin’?” He asked nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrowed as disappointment shot through you. Were you reading the situation wrong? 
“I don’t really know how.” You say, setting your now watered-down drink on the counter. 
“I’ll teach you.” He shrugs, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor. He showed you step by step how to move, but your mind was so hazy with lust that you could barely even focus. 
It’d been months since someone touched you in an intimate way, and the burning need and desire was aflame through your body. All you could think about was Joel’s hands and tongue on you as you moaned his name. The thought nearly made you pout. 
“You even listenin’ to me?” Joel pulls you out of your daydream, and you look up at him with half lidded eyes. He was teasing and holding out on you and he knew it. 
His face held pure amusement as he watched you squirm under his stare uncontrollably, fidgeting like a little kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to stop by. 
“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You sigh, walking back to the table Hailey was waiting at.
“What happened?” She asks, looking behind you at Joel who was burning a hole in the back of your body. 
“No idea. Guess I’m not getting lucky after all.” You shrug with a disappointed huff of a laugh. You looked back to see if Joel was still there, but he seemed to have disappeared. 
You grabbed your purse and made your way to the bar, leaning over it. The back of your dress rode your thighs significantly, barely covering your ass at this point. Before you could get the bartender’s attention again, you felt a hand on your shoulder pull you back and press you into their body. You were about to mouth off on this person before you realized it was Joel. 
“Fuck, c’mon.” His hand slid down to your wrist, gently tugging it. You looked at Hailey as you started to follow Joel and pointed at him discreetly, and she gave you a thumbs up. 
Joel led you out into the cool air of the night, immediately chilling your whole body. Goosebumps raised onto your skin as he led you to his truck, your heels clicking against the unevenly paved asphalt. 
“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask as you stop in front of a dark truck. 
“I’m about to give us what we both want.” He said before trapping your body against his truck and between both of his strong arms that landed on either side of you. You cocked an eyebrow up at him, eyes and lips glossy underneath the dim parking lot lights. 
“Can’t believe I’m fuckin’ doin’ this.” Joel murmurs before leaning down, smashing his lips with yours. You moan softly into the kiss, carding your fingers into his longer locks. You give the ends a slight tug and he moans into your mouth. You feel the arousal pool in your panties and your untouched core starts to throb. You whine into the kiss, and Joel takes that as an opportunity for his tongue to invade your mouth. 
He tastes like mint now, probably having popped an altoid in his mouth before coming back to get you from the bar. His hands travel downwards and find purchase on your thighs underneath the dress, rubbing circles into your soft skin. He starts to rut his hips into yours, the bulge in his jeans catching onto your clothed clit deliciously. 
“Joel, please.” You choke out as his lips disconnect from yours, hot kisses traveling down your neck and onto your collarbone. 
“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice raspy and muffled as he breathes against your neck. 
“Need you. Fuck, please, just touch me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound to him at this moment. His touch left a trail of flames everywhere his hands landed, and you couldn’t get enough. 
Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you away from the back door of his truck, opening it and helping you slide in. He got in right after you, closing and locking the doors. Your chest was rapidly heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath from the intense moment. 
Joel didn’t give you much leeway, though, because as soon as he spread his legs to get comfy in the backseat, he was pulling you on top of him. You closed the gap between you two this time, rutting your hips forward so your heat sat right on top of his bulging crotch. He groaned lowly, looking down to where your dress had ridden up. He saw your pink lace panties that you had on, and god were you grateful you chose to wear those tonight.
Joel hummed in appreciation as he slid his calloused hands up the smooth skin of your thighs, looking back up to meet your gaze. Your lipgloss was nearly gone off of your lips and onto Joel’s, and he had to admit he liked the sticky cherry flavor. 
“Your daddy would kill me with his bare hands right now if he saw what I was doin’ with his darlin’ daughter.” Joel chuckles, shaking his head. 
“That’s why he won’t find out,” You shrug. “Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions and decide what I want… and what I want is you, Mr. Miller.” 
Joel raises an eyebrow and huffs a small laugh. “That right?” He questions, grip getting slightly tighter on the soft flesh of your thighs. 
“Mhm.” You nod, hand cradling the back of his head. 
“What we’re doin’—this is bad.” Joel chastised, mostly to himself. 
“Relax, Joel. I won’t tell if you won’t.” You twirl the hair at the nape of his neck through your fingers, applying more pressure onto his groin. He grunts in response, adjusting himself slightly as the confinement of his jeans was nearly torturous at this point. 
“Fine. But we’re endin’ this whole hookin’ up thing if anyone gets even the slightest bit suspicious.” He negotiates, and you nod. 
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Miller.” 
Joel chuckles and shakes his head, leaning up to capture your lips into his once again. You hum against him, hands moving down to his chest as your nails scratch over the thin fabric of his shirt. 
You start to grind yourself onto him again, and he groans once more before separating his lips from yours to mumble against them. “Use my thigh, baby.” He shifts you onto his left thigh, and you steady yourself on him by gripping his shoulders. 
“I don’t wanna ruin your pants.” You sigh, the pressure of your clothed clit on his thick thigh already providing the tiniest bit of relief. 
“I don’t give a shit about my pants, baby. Soak ‘em for all I care.” He presses his lips to your neck once more, and you shiver at the contact. You’re shy at first, not ever having gotten yourself off on someone’s thigh before. 
Joel senses your hesitation, so he moves his hands back up to your hips and shifts them forward, causing your soaked cunt to glide along his jean-clad thigh. 
You take over yourself, rocking your hips back and forth at a languid pace. Desperate moans are falling out of your mouth as you fist his shirt into your hands, feeling yourself so close already. 
“Joel, feels so-so fucking good.” You whine, head dropping back. Your jaw goes slack and eyebrows thread together, picking the pace of your hips up. 
“Yeah? Such a good fuckin’ girl, takin’ what she needs to get off.” 
“I need you, Joel, please.” 
Joel moved his hands to fumble with his belt buckle and jeans button to take his jeans off in the slightest, finally relieving his erection. You moaned at the sight of his thick cock, pre cum gathered at the tip. You brought your thumb to his slit, gathering the pre cum onto your finger before bringing it up to your mouth to gently suck on it. 
Joel’s jaw ticked, resisting the urge to bend you over the back of his seat and fuck you senseless then and there. Luckily, he had a lot more restraint than he thought, because all he did was just stare at you sucking seductively on your thumb. 
You shifted yourself so you were straddling both of his thighs now, and you grabbed his cock into your hand to give it a few slow tugs. Joel sucked in a breath at your touch, head being thrown back onto the headrest of the seat. You tugged your panties to the side before you ran the tip of his weeping cock through your slick folds, a lewd wetness sounding throughout the cab of the truck. 
You moaned as Joel hissed at the contact. It’d been awhile since Joel had been with someone, so he prayed to whatever god was out there that he’d be able to last. 
“C’mon baby, don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” Joel grunts, fingertips digging into your hips. You look down at him with half lidded eyes as you sank down onto his length without much resistance. 
The stretch was fucking heavenly. Your lips parted as you puffed out a pant and sucked in a breath shortly after, reaching the hilt. 
“So fucking big. Fuck.” You mewl, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance once more. 
“Stay still for a little.” Joel’s voice was strained, sounding nearly pained as he choked out his words. You felt so good wrapped around him that he just wanted to appreciate your warmth. 
Joel slid the sparkly straps of your dress down your shoulders, tugging down the neckline of your dress to reveal your breasts. His tongue darted out of his mouth to briefly wet his lips, large hands moving up to gently squeeze the soft flesh of your chest. 
“So fuckin’ perfect.” Joel whispers, moving his head down to envelope one erect nipple into his mouth while his thumb and index finger toyed with the other. You moved one hand up his chest and to the back of his hair, threading your fingers through the thick locks once more as you pushed his face deeper into your pillowy flesh. 
The feeling of his expert tongue and heavy cock in you was beginning to be too much. You needed him to move, or at least let you move. You weren’t above absolutely begging him until he gave in, but he seemed to have the same idea as his hips thrusted into you. 
You took that as an initiative to move, so you began to slowly glide yourself up and down on him. You sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling of him repeatedly filling you made your legs shake. He took his mouth off of your swollen flesh to avert his gaze to yours, eyes locking as you moved up and down. He moved a hand down to generously rub at your aching clit, causing your cunt to deliciously clench around him. 
“Gonna ruin this tight little pussy. Just you wait.” His voice is throaty and deep, sending shivers down your spine. The dangerous glint in his eye let you know that he was dead serious. 
You wanted Joel Miller to ruin every other man for you. 
That’s how this, the dangerous thing—the game—started. 
You both were determined to win at something that wasn’t even tangible; something so lucrative to both of you that the consequences wouldn’t even fucking matter. 
It didn’t matter as he took over and fucked his hips up into you at a brutal pace, causing you to orgasm violently on his cock within minutes. It didn’t matter when the windows of his truck fogged up and the drag of your fingertips adorned the glass. It didn’t matter when you reassured him he could cum in you because you were on birth control. 
As months went on after that night at the bar, him fucking you up against the wall of his shower or pounding you into your bed or eating your pussy until you physically could not breathe anymore was all that dazed your mind. 
Fuck the consequences. 
None of it fucking mattered. 
Because, over the months, Joel Miller was the kind of man you didn’t mind having in your bed after you two’ve fucked. You didn’t mind when he slept over, or when he wanted to be the little spoon, or when you both went out on dates like a normal couple would. 
The euphoria of it all didn’t last forever, though. You knew it wouldn’t, but the heavy weight and reality of it all came crashing down on you one day when Joel was buried deep into your warm cunt, both of you teetering on the edge of a climax, when your dad came knocking on your front door. Pure panic seized your body and you had to make Joel hide in your closet like a fucking teenager. 
That’s when you realized you both were way in over your head with this whole thing. Getting caught was going to be inevitable if it kept up like this. 
You were eternally grateful that your dad was a man who didn’t hover. He left your apartment after fifteen minutes and when Joel came out from hiding, you told him that it was way too close and it was too risky to keep doing what you both wanted to never put a stop to. You’d silently promised yourself that was the last time with him. 
Joel tried to argue against it, but you put your foot down. That is, until you got slightly buzzed one night and begged Joel to come fuck you. Truthfully, you didn’t even really need the sex from him. It was just a plus. You just enjoyed being around him so much that having him in some way, even if only physically, was to suffice. 
Little did you know, he felt ten times stronger than what you felt. Joel Miller would worship the ground you walked on, if you allowed him to do so. 
He was at your doorstep in no time, pushing you against the wall and kissing you with such neediness as if you’d disappear right beneath his fingertips. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties to which Joel discarded immediately. His thick fingers rubbed against your slick heat, hips bucking to meet the languid pace he set. 
Joel shouldn’t be here.
You promised yourself the last time would be the fucking last. 
And yet, you found yourself willingly shoved up against the wall of your living room by none other than the man you swore you’d stay away from as he leaves hot, fervent kisses along the slope of your neck.
“Joel, we—fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this. We have to stop.”
“Yeah? Not what you were sayin’ when you were practically beggin’ me to fuck you again over the phone.” He grits. He sinks his fingers into your aching cunt, prying a strangled moan from your throat.
He’s frustrated with himself. 
Frustrated that he so easily succumbed to you, allowing himself to wrap himself in the greedy need and carnal desire he had for you. Frustrated that you were twenty years younger than him, and frustrated that you should’ve been off limits.
You were supposed to be off limits, god damnit, but Joel Miller was a greedy fucking man. He just had to have you in a way that nobody else could. 
He really didn’t blame your father if he strangled the man  with his own bare hands if he ever found out what you two did behind his back, in secret, and for months at that. 
Joel knew better. 
He fucking knew better and still decided to get a taste, get a feel, fuck you like no other man had. Something his greed deliciously sunk its teeth into, allowing himself to indulge in the forbidden realm you offered to give him. 
You knew better, too. But you did get one thing you wanted, after all. 
You’d be a fucking liar if you didn’t admit that Joel Miller had officially ruined every other man for you. 
The dangers of the game had sunk its teeth so deep into both of you. It was like the world’s most impossible chess match, and one of you was finally waiting for the other to say “checkmate.” 
 The thing is, Joel lost a long while ago. 
He fucking lost the game. 
He couldn’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tried, and when you called him begging him to fuck you tonight, his need for you practically drowned him in his weakness. 
Joel Miller was not a weak man. You had him under a fucking spell that he couldn’t seem to reverse. 
It’s like you were his fucking kryptonite. 
He was the one that royally fucked in the end. 
Joel wished he didn’t have these feelings that clawed at his fucking rib cage every time he glanced at you, some sort of animalistic creature trying to escape when you were under him, legs spread wide, your warmth wrapped around his cock as he buried himself in you.
Every single time he had you like that, had his lips on you, had you moaning his name like a prayer on Sunday mornings, saw your sweet smile, smelled your perfume that he loved so much, heard your contagious laugh, he knew he lost.
Checkmate. 
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tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @amanitacowboy ; @holesandlividity ; @planet-marz1 ; @joelmillers-whore ; @cool-iguana ; @janaispunk ; @freakygothgirl ; @survivingandenduring ; @clawdee ; @danaispunk ; @kiwisbell ; @untamedheart81
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c0pkiller · 2 months
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CAMERAMAN CHOSO
cw: reader is a porn star, reader has sex with another porn actor (m), choso is pining, masturbation (m), oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, afab reader, cowgirl pos, unprotected sex
tags: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @bloompompom @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @hehehehesthings @thecookiebratz @chocoyanchan @niko-ash @hinata7346 @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @ploylulla @131patpat @etlftl @doestalker @chariottethecat @jottositto @missphanosaur18 @darkstarlight82 @sodoney @xocherishxo @ilysmmdouma @sousblogga @xukoii @viisgrave @mriixxx @iminlovewqr0w @luv4th3m @sheluvzeren @prettymoonlightsworld @anubisisthebomb taglist form
more content on my masterlist.
a/n: trying to use a much simpler format for hcs to help me post a little more often! I have no idea where I got the mdni banner below. it's been in my phone for weeks so if it's yours and you need credit, just let me know :)
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Cameraman! Choso who finished film school very aware that he would immediately be working on blockbuster movies and was ready to work his way up the ladder of the film industry to achieve that type of job so, in the meantime, didn’t mind working on a few odd jobs to keep up with the cost of living and build his resume up.
Cameraman! Choso who is almost too hesitant to take the job that’s offered to him, filming on a porn set but, when he sees the amount, he’ll be paid up front, can’t refuse – although he’s not sure if he’ll be able to add this to his resume. He guesses it doesn’t matter. He’s got student loans to chip away at and he’s just itching to shoot something... anything.
Cameraman! Choso shows up to set early and eager to film but he’s still plenty nervous. He can’t lie though; he’s always wondered what it’s like behind the scenes of any porn video. Sure, he watches porn. What guy doesn’t? He never thought this was where he would land directly after school though. Despite showing up early, things don’t really set into motion for about an hour. Then people are bustling around, setting the scene and getting the lighting under control. He’s instructed on what’s expected from him – nothing he can’t handle. He’s sure he’ll hit all of his marks. Then hair and makeup make it onto set and the actors follow suit. The male actor is handsome, the typical type of guy he’d usually see in porn and nothing really special. Then his eyes land on you.
Cameraman! Choso almost feels bad for his first thought of you. He first thinks that... you’re too pretty to be here. Not when you could easily be a model in all of the top mags. His eyes stay glued to you, the female actor in this shoot. He can hardly concentrate on adjusting his camera without stealing glances at you as you let your makeup artist dust your cheeks to make your skin glow. The crew works around him as he watches you chat with the artist. Choso can tell that you’re the friendly type. You have that energy that shows that you really get along with everyone.
Cameraman! Choso has to clear his throat a few times to speak back to you when you approach him with a question about the lighting over the bed you’re about to get plowed on. He doesn’t exactly know the answer to your question but gives you his best guess and the waver in his voice really gives away his inexperience in this kind of thing. You carefully survey the unfamiliar camera man. Although you haven’t been doing porn for that long, you feel like you would’ve remembered Choso if you’d ever seen him before. He’s too pretty to forget. You’re never shy when you’re on set and the idea of the raven-haired beauty being the one behind the camera only makes you even more excited.
Cameraman! Choso listens carefully to what the director of the set tells him and then watches as everyone gets into their places. His eyes stay glued to you, even when he’s pointing the camera at something else. You fall into your scene so naturally, he’s almost unable to tell that you’re acting. He watches as you run your arm down the bare chest of your male counterpart and give him your ‘fuck me’ eyes, a sensual gaze you’ve perfected with experience.
Cameraman! Choso can tell that you know you’re sex on legs. He can tell that you know you’re the sexiest person in this room. You probably know that you’re the sexiest person in most rooms. He feels his eyes sting with the way he refuses to blink, watching you work. You get to your knees and take the head of the guy’s cock in your mouth, humming around the tip as if you’ve just licked the side of a candy apple. You maintain eye contact with the guy as you take him all the way into your mouth and suck his cock with enthusiasm. You throw your head back and really get into it, bobbing your head before the actor grabs the back of your head and begins bucking into your mouth.
Cameraman! Choso cringes when he hears you gag. Everyone on set sees how rough the actor gets with you, pulling your hair and snapping his hips forward with purpose. It takes all of his restraint not to stop rolling and rush onto set to pull you away from him. He wonders how he’s gotten so protective of a random porn star like you and why it’s strong enough to lapse his professionalism. Last night, he stayed up wondering exactly how he was going to keep it together watching some hot chick get drilled in front of all of these people and promised himself that he wouldn’t let it get to him. He’s here for a check. He’s got expenses piling up and they aren’t gonna wait for him to wait for him to get his foot in the door in the film industry.
Camerman! Choso is finding that goal hard to reach. You look so good, despite being face down ass up in the queen-sized bed. He can’t tell if you’re acting or if this guy’s uncoordinated thrusts are actually meeting your sweet spot. Fake moans or not, Choso finds himself breathing heavily as he focuses the camera on where his cock is pushing into you – making sure to get closeups where he’s expected to. He tries to channel everything he’s learned in film school but he’s not prepared for the moment you wiggle out of the actor’s grip and put him on his back.
Cameraman! Choso watches you impale yourself on the actor’s cock and ride it like it’s yours. He studies you when he realizes that he was right. That guy wasn’t pleasing you. You’re pushing his tip into your own g-spot, doing all of the angling yourself and your moans are sounding more genuine now that you’re in control. He throws all dreams of professionalism out the window when he focuses on your glistening hole and finds his own dick hardening in his pants. Choso struggles to fight the urge to reach down and squeeze himself in front of all of these people though.
Cameraman! Choso’s dick is so hard it hurts by the time you all wrap up filming. He’s watched you squirt on the guy's cock at least ten times, soaking the bedsheets you’ve been on for the last hour, and you look exhausted. Before he gets the opportunity to initiate another chat with you, not even sure what he’d say to a sexy confident woman like you, the editors are asking for his footage so they can do their job and get the video uploaded soon. When he turns back to the bed, it’s void of you and the cleaning crew is getting to it.
Cameraman! Choso scans the set looking for your pretty naked body, but he only finds clothed crew. His heart sinks when he realizes that you didn’t waste any time getting off of the set and he’ll probably never see you... in real life. He can’t focus on anything until he gets rid of his erection though, shamelessly jerking his cock in the bathroom and stifling moans into his palm.
Cameraman! Choso isn’t done getting off to you even when he finds himself in the privacy of his apartment. He opens his preferred porn site and types in your stage name. His eyes blow wide when he realizes that there are hundreds of videos available, all starring you. Choso gets off to every snippet he finds of you, fucking his own fist until his cock is positively raw and then some. He can’t stop himself. Every time one video finishes, his hand moves without his permission and presses play on the next one. He can’t get enough of your face, the way you moan (fake or not, doesn’t matter). Your sounds of pleasure fill up his bedroom and he spend hours rubbing loads out and moaning your stage name, fantasizing about you being there to worship his cock the way you do for other men.
Cameraman! Choso has developed a routine of only getting off to you over the next week or two. It’s pathetic, he knows. But he’s beyond help or self-control. He gets paid for the project, glad for the money, and even gets a new job offer. Choso just knows that if he takes another offer to shoot porn, that’s exactly where he’s going to stay. It was fine as a one timer but doing it again? He’ll get too comfortable and never make a name for himself in the movie industry with a reputation like that. But then, his obsession with you comes to mind. You’re an itch that he’d give anything to scratch. On the off chance you happen to be filming on this project, he accepts the job, wanting you more than any dream job he graduated film school in hopes of earning. The cameraman only wants to shoot films you star in, x-rated or otherwise.
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c-nstantine · 5 months
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Things That Go Bump In The Night
Description: Vampire!Bruce Wayne fucks his maid
Warnings:Blood, Vampirism, Maid Costume, Cunnilingus
Word Count: 1.4k
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Y/N knew the job was a little sketchy but who could say no to this kind of money, especially in Gotham? When she saw the advertisement put out by the housekeeper of the old Wayne Manor, she figured why not? Being paid $19 an hour for simply cleaning up the house was almost too good to be true. However, sometimes you gotta get it how you live it.
There were three rules that the housekeeper, Mr. Alfred, instilled upon Y/N during her acceptance of the job. The first of which is that she must leave before the sun sets every day. The second was that if the door was locked, leave it be. Finally, she must wear an oddly sexualized maid uniform. Y/N did question the last one but Mr. Alfred swore that it was the way it had always been.
Y/N had been working at Wayne Manor for about two weeks and nothing odd had happened. Of course, occasionally there would be an odd creak here and there but Y/N wrote that off as the house is old. She did feel like she was being watched but that was just the amount of paintings that were trapped in the home. One time she asked Alfred whatever happened to the Wayne family, and he responded with "Sometimes it feels like old Master Wayne still lurks around,".
That was an odd statement to Y/N but she continued her work nonetheless. She found herself in the library of the manor and there was something so serene about it. She began to dust book after book until she was sure that there was dust stuck in her fluffed-out afro, which made her regret wearing her out today. For some reason, she felt more tired than usual and thought about taking a nap. Mr. Alfred had already left for the evening and there were plenty hours of daylight left. A little nap wouldn't hurt.
"What are you doing here?" A deep voice said, startling Y/N from her nap. A tall pale man stood over her. He had eyes as blue as lightning that touched the ground and his black hair was messy.
"Who are you?" Y/N responded standing up next to the man. In the two weeks that she had been working, she had yet to see another person other than Alfred. She also had to pull the already short skirt down because it left nothing to be desired. Of course, this only caused her cleavage to spill out even more.
"I asked first," The man said looking her up and down. Y/N felt self-conscious under his gaze but the man was simply drinking her. His eyes trailed everything that the damn uniform didn't hide.
"I'm the maid that Mr. Alfred hired," She said wrapping her arms around herself. Once again she forced her cleavage to be more prominent.
"So, he does have good taste after all," The brooding man licked his lips at the sight of the woman by the fireplace light.
"Huh? Who are you?" She asked once more stepping back away from the man before her.
"Bruce Wayne," He said, stepping to her once again. He cared not for her personal space, after all, it was she who was in his home.
"The Waynes all died. Everyone in Gotham knows that," Y/N stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Then how am I standing right in front of you," Bruce pestered the younger woman. He could see the gears turning in her head.
"Are you a ghost?" In Y/N's defense, that was the most reasonable thing to assume with a creepy old house involved.
"No, I'm something better than a ghost. You smell nice," He leaned in next to her and sniffed just above her neck. Y/N found herself not being able to move.
"Excuse me?" This man was giving her whiplash. At first, he had seemed angry that she had been in his house after hours but now he seemed attracted to her.
"You smell nice. Virgin?" He asked, stepping closer to her once more. Y/N could no longer step back and was leaning against a shelf of the books that she had just cleaned.
"I guess it doesn't matter, you won't be after tonight," He spoke once more after Y/N didn't respond to the question.
"What are you talking about?" Her voice wavered. She was scared but something about him felt safe. She didn't like it.
"Do you want me to pretend that I can't smell you from here?" He whispered carefully. Y/N wanted to pretend that this entire situation wasn't turning her on. She squeezed her thighs together in hopes of something changing. Nor did she begin to question how this man could smell her arousal.
"Oh, sweet girl. Clenching those thick thighs doesn't hide the arousal," Bruce taunted and he forced his knee between her thighs to spread her legs. Y/N was almost a little too compliant with her actions but she wanted to see where this would go. Her skirt rose and just barely covered her panties.
"What do you want from me?" She asked as Bruce pressed himself against her. He didn't have the aura of someone trying to hurt her but rather please her.
"It's not what I want but what I can give you. I'll give you pleasure, but you'll have to do something for me later," Bruce was a bit ambiguous on the terms of the deal but that was his job in a way.
"Pleasure?" Y/N asked almost with a moan. If she didn't have any self-respect, she would've been riding that man's knee then and there.
"I will relieve that little ache between your legs. Just say 'yes'," He began to kiss down her chest and paused as he waited for her confirmation.
"Yes," Y/N sighed and the creature picked her up and bent her over the couch's arm that she was previously napping on.
"Good girl," He said as he yanked off her panties. There was a distinct ripping of the cotton fabric and Y/N whined. He simply hushed her while looking at his feast.
Y/N's stomach was pressed against the chair's arm as Bruce's tongue played with her clit. His tongue felt sharper than what she imagined and she swore she saw a fang earlier. Those notions were dropped from her mind when he spread her pussy lips to dive deeper inside of her. He continued to lick and prod while her pussy gripped nothing. He was having fun with this, she thought to herself. Bringing her to the first orgasm of the night, with nothing but his tongue.
"If your pussy tastes divine, I can't wait to see what your blood tastes like," Bruce said, giving a heavy smack to her ass. Y/N was too fucked out from her first orgasm to even comprehend the words that fell from his lips. She heard the dropping of his belt to the floor and the soft steps of him stepping out of his dress pants and underwear.
"I'll go slow for you since it is your first time. I make no guarantees for the future," Bruce said lining up his cock with her entrance. Just the head had gone in and Y/N was already moaning like a bitch in heat. Bruce simply chuckled. Her pussy was sucking him in but he remained strong and continued his strokes at a slow pace. That was until Y/N tried to push herself away from him.
"Good girls don't run from dick," He said while grabbing her hips. He held her in her place on the couch as he began to ram into her. Since she wanted to run, she would take all that he gave her. The echoes of skin slapping began to fill the library. Y/N never really thought about how she would lose her virginity but in a library by firelight sounded nice enough. Y/N's knees buckle and Bruce smirked as he continued to ram into her pussy. Y/N's moans were almost pornographic and the stimulation from his balls hitting her clit was what finally put her over the edge. Her eyes crossed for a second.
"Now, it's my turn," Bruce whispered. He sat Y/N up and she stood on shaky legs. Bruce pushed her afro out of the way and sniffed her neck. He bared his fangs and with a hiss, his teeth broke her skin and drank her blood. Y/N soon passed out and Bruce carried her up to his bed and left her there until she awoke, a new.
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dxxdhood · 2 months
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wait for me
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pairing: waiter!dick grayson x gn!reader
summary: after getting stood up on a date, you notice the waiter who's been patiently watching you all evening.
tags: smut (18+), sub!dick grayson, dom!reader, teasing, dirty talk, humiliation, name-calling, slapping, handjob
wc: 1.9k
a/n: hey, hope you guys like this one! if anyone has any requests/thoughts, please send them in. i want to write more, but i really struggle with ideas haha
It’s not that bad, all things considered. You must have the intuition of a god for choosing a restaurant that allows free refills, because if you’ve had to pay for drinks this whole night, you’d have gone completely broke. Still, you can’t help feeling pretty shitty. There’s no way your date is running two hours late.
The place is a casual diner, serving a host of soups, sandwiches, and pastries that had you salivating earlier on in the night, but right now, you’re not exactly in the mood to browse the menu again. The diner doesn’t close until twelve, but it’s been almost deserted for the past hour, probably because it’s a weeknight and the average person has plenty better to do than wait on a person who’s made it obvious they’re not coming
Just as you’re about to get up and leave – for real this time – the waiter comes around to refill your drink. It’s a quarter till twelve, and at this point you know he probably wants to start cleaning up, but still he tops up your drink without saying anything. It’s a kindness, but a part of you just wishes he would kick you out already.
He’s been the only waiter on staff since you got here – even the manager knew this place would be empty – and you’re so glad he was, because if you ever want to show your face here again, all you have to do is avoid one person. It’s a shame that you feel too embarrassed to interact with him, though. He’s been nothing but polite, only asking if you were ready to order at the very beginning before quickly picking up on the fact that you were waiting on your date– the one that wasn’t coming.
You take a sip from your full drink, but you can’t stomach any more. Standing up, you try to avoid eye contact with the waiter, who’s relaxing behind the counter, as you step towards the exit. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of your head, like you’ve skipped a step or forgotten an important task. It dawns on you as you’re facing the exit: you forgot to tip him!
Well, you didn’t order a meal and you paid for your drink up front, so you’re not exactly sure if you were meant to tip him. Hell, you didn’t know if this restaurant accepted tips at all. But this waiter just watched you sit through quiet torture and the second-hand embarrassment was probably like stepping on glass.
“Hey,” you turn around. “Do I… Should I tip you?”
“Yeah, I was wondering that, too,” he says lightly. He purses his lips and stares to the side, “I’ve turned it over a few times in my head, and decided that nope! You don’t need to tip me. You have no lawful or moral obligation, I resolve you.”
You feel your eyes getting watery, so you focus on the dust in the crease between the wall and the floor. Him saying that only makes you feel worse, but it’d be too awkward to hand him the money now. It feels like there should be something you could do, some way you could thank him for keeping you company.
“How many people are staffed right now?” you ask.
He looks caught off guard, like he expected the interaction to end there. “Oh, just me and one other guy in the kitchen.”
“Let me help you close.”
His eyes widen, and you try to meet his gaze. He’s puzzled, probably trying to figure out what you get out of helping him. Eventually, he shrugs his shoulders and gets up from behind the counter.
“Yeah, why not,” he says with a fond smirk, gesturing to you to follow him. 
He leads you to the supply closet, where the two of you grab cleaning spray, rags, and a broom. While you work on wiping down the tables and chairs, he counts the cash in the register.
“So, you always offer to clean up after yourself?” he starts, too focused on tallying up the earnings to notice you staring at him. The waiter, “Dick” according to his name tag, is very cute. You were trying to ignore him the best you could for the sake of your would-be date, but honestly, fuck that guy. Your waiter with the dashing smile and ruffled hair blows him out of the water, anyway.
“Just feeling extra polite tonight. You always accept help from customers?”
“You won’t believe this, but nobody’s offered,” he says with a snort. “Still, probably not the smartest idea on my part.”
You think about his words for a second as you wipe down a particularly stubborn stain. “I wouldn’t be able to rob you if I wanted to.”
It’s true, he looked well-muscled, even if on the leaner side. His eyes are playful as he narrows them at you. “Careful, they take security footage of this place, don't confess to any thoughts you may or may not have.”
You laugh, going back to cleaning before you start again. “Can’t believe you put off closing the diner just so you could watch me get stood up for an extra however many minutes.”
“Counterpoint: Can’t believe you let yourself get stood up for so long.” Dick finishes up at the register and grabs the broom. “You’re worth more than that.”
“Oh? And how do you know what I’m worth?” you say instinctively. 
You watch his eyes widen from your peripheral vision, like he didn’t mean to say his last comment out loud. “I wasn’t trying to overstep, but, like, obviously you’re attractive. You could get anyone you wanted and–”
“You’ve been watching me all night, haven't you?” Filled with newfound confidence, you leave your rag and spray bottle and walk over to where Dick is sweeping the entrance. 
Despite how friendly he’s been tonight, he deliberately avoids eye contact as he works. “Well, yeah, I needed to make sure you got your order once – if – you placed one–”
“No, no. I mean you were watching me,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “What, you wish you were the one I was going on a date with?”
And though you know you’re jumping to conclusions, he stiffens at your words and it’s clear you’ve caught him.
“I… I didn’t want to bother–” Dick starts, dropping the broom. You use the opening to push him against the wall, hearing the scratches of the brick against his button up shirt.
“That’s alright,” you whisper. “I don’t mind being bothered.”
You can feel his chest rise and fall as you press yourself closer to him. His eyes follow your every move, and you bring your face closer until it's only inches away from his. 
You can feel the puffs of his inhales and exhales on your skin, and you’re about to completely close the gap between you two, but Dick beats you to it. He kisses you, and you pull back for a moment in surprise before sinking into the kiss.
His lips are so warm, and as he brings up a hand to pull you closer by the jaw, you notice how surprisingly soft his hands are. You try to deepen the kiss, nipping his lip in the process, and he lets out a gasp. Biting at his lip a little more, he giggles as he realizes you’re playing with him.
“You’re starting to bother me,” he quips, trying to keep his composure as you nip at the underside of his jaw. Just when he starts getting comfortable and relaxing into your kisses, you switch to biting at him, and he jolts.
“Maybe you deserve it. You need to learn better manners, sitting there, watching me all night. Bet you wish I would’ve shoved you against this wall a whole lot sooner, huh?” you whisper into his ear before going back to kissing down his neck. He moans at your words, but tries to muffle himself by pushing his face into his shoulder. You bring a hand up to his hair and tug to get him to pay attention to you.
“Right in front of everyone, too,” you continue, sliding a hand down his stomach to work on his jeans. “Just mark you, make you moan like a bitch while everyone else is watching.”
Biting his lip, Dick tries to ignore the effect your words have on him, but he’s still rutting against your hand as you’re unzipping him. He gives a small thrust against the air, whimpering as you wrap your hand around his cock.
“Shit, this all for me?” you breathe. You swear Dick can hear you smirk, even as he pinches his eyes shut.
“Don’t– Ah!” he gets cut off as you start stroking him slowly. “Don’t let– let it go to your head.”
“No, I think I’ll be just fine,” you quicken your pace, not giving him a second to get ready. “If I remember right, some slut thinks he’s hot enough to get me to fuck him just by, what, batting his eyes at me? From all the way across the diner?”
“Well–” He groans, arching his back against the wall. The sweat shines against his cheeks, you feel so lucky to be the cause of it. “Well I was right, wasn’t I?”
You chuckle, caught off guard. “Guess you are.”
You briefly remove your hand, and Dick grunts, irritated, before you spit in it and go back to forcefully jerking him off. His moans grow louder, and you can see him start to get lost, eyes growing distant while chasing his orgasm.
“Are you going to come already?” you say, slowing your pace to be more deliberate, but still keeping the pressure the same. After a moment of silence, you slap his balls and he lets out a yelp that melts into a groan. 
“Answer me!” you shout, bringing your hand back up to pull at his hair.
“Ah– Yeah, y-yes!” he gasps. “You’re going to make me cum!”
“Good,” you say before you bite at his neck again, sucking a spot right under his jugular. The skin starts to deepen and you lick, tending to it before you nip at it again, just biting hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. 
Dick screams as he cums, thrusting into your fist at an uncontrolled pace. You work him through it, matching his speed until he falls back against the wall, spent. As he slides down the wall until he sits on the ground, you walk back to one of the chairs.
“Damn, not ready for round two?” you say, propping up your head on the top rail. He huffs through his nose, looking at you for a moment like he’s checking to see if you’re real. He seems to find what he’s looking for, giggling and resting his head on his knees. 
“Oh my god, Dick, stop it. We need to go!” A tall, built man walks out of the kitchen, “Jason” according to his name tag. Looking sheepish, Dick is ready to defend himself, but Jason walks towards him, ignoring every word coming out of Dick’s mouth. 
Dick hands you a napkin, gesturing a phone and mouthing the words “call me” as he’s dragged out of the building by Jason. In shock, you open up the napkin to find his name and his number hastily scribbled in ballpoint pen. Smirking to yourself, you only wish you knew how early on in the night Dick prepared this napkin for you. You could’ve saved the both of you two hours of waiting.
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desertduality · 2 months
Note
gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo
physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao
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The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.
The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.
So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 
“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 
“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”
“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”
“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.
“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 
“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”
“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 
“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”
Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 
“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 
Huh. Interesting. 
Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”
There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.
“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”
“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”
“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”
“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 
The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 
The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   
“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 
“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”
“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”
Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.
“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”
“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.
Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 
“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.
“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”
“...huh?”
“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”
“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”
Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”
They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.
Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 
Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.
They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 
They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.
Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 
The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 
“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”
“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”
“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”
Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”
In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.
“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”
“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”
“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.
Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”
“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”
“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”
“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.
The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 
Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”
A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.
When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 
Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.
Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 
“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”
Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.
“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 
Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 
“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”
With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 
“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”
Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”
“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”
“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”
“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”
The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”
“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”
“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”
“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”
“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”
“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”
“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”
“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”
“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”
“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken.”
“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 
“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”
“I was just wondering!”
“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”
Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”
“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”
“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”
Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 
It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 
“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”
Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 
Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.
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